


i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

by Ellory



Series: here is the deepest secret [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aristocracy, Arthurian, Attempted Kidnapping, Coming of Age, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fic Remix, Love Magic, Magic Is Sentient, Mother Magic - Freeform, Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Night Terrors, Non-Graphic Past Miscarriage Mention, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Harry Potter, Soul Bond, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: The most dangerous thing you can do in the Wizarding World is fall in love. For if you fall in love, truly, deeply in love, you will literally lose your heart.
Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Female Harry Potter, Charlus Potter/Dorea Black Potter, James Potter/Original Female Character, Various Side Pairings
Series: here is the deepest secret [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571767
Comments: 354
Kudos: 1115





	1. Part the First

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i want no world (for beautiful you are my world)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007074) by [Ellory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory). 

> The title is from a poem by e.e. cummings.
> 
> A long time ago, over seven years, ExcentrykeMuse and I co-wrote a pureblood fanfiction titled "Of Power and Prestige." Cen reached a point where she requested all her intellectual property be removed from the internet, so I took our story down. This story is a remix of that fanfiction; Cen's contributions have been removed, in respect for her request.
> 
> Lokne and LadyLaran helped with some of the editing. Thank you!

Haesel Potter perched on the edge of the brocade settee in the lounge, the picture of propriety. Her robes were pristine and bore the Potter family crest on the back. Her ebony curls were twisted up in a crown of intricate plaits that most witches were unable to create without magic. Her ice-blue eyes were blank as she listened to her mother and grandmother banter ideas back and forth for her coming of age gala.

“I say let Heir Malfoy have the first waltz,” Dorea Potter said. “His mother’s a Black, and we’re imminently graceful. He’ll show her to her best advantage.”

Haesel’s nails scraped against her robes, wrinkling it in furrows. That made it sound like she was a purebred Crup being paraded before buyers.

Isadore Potter replied, “Neville is her godbrother; I trust him that close to her. He’s a good boy.”

Her eyes closed in a slow blink of frustration. They weren’t normally like this, and Haesel hated that one stupid event had set them at odds. Not only that, but as the planning had progressed, they had started treating her like a doll. Though she was present, they were talking about her as if she held no opinions of her own.

“Heir Malfoy’s already been shown favor, what with Haesel constantly attending Quidditch matches with him and his sisters. It’s hardly a secret, Isadore,” Dorea replied, as she browsed through a catalogue.

Gritting her teeth, Haesel stood and left the room without either her mother or grandmother noticing. One of them would likely ask her worriedly why she had left later in the day, but she didn’t care. She was so sick of this. She was tired of the bickering inside the manor when everyone usually got along perfectly well. She didn’t want to hear any more debates about who might offer for her (they suspected all single bachelors of any means in England would) and whom her parents would be willing to consider. 

But most of all, Haesel could not stand another moment of hearing them argue about who deserved her first public waltz. It was supposed to be a special moment in her life—something truly unforgettable—and neither woman had asked with whom she felt comfortable. Her partner for the waltz would touch her more intimately than any man outside her family ever had, and Haesel felt that she should definitely get some (well,  _ all) _ say in whose hands touched her.

It was so unlike them that it  _ hurt. _

“Turning seventeen should be a joy, not a curse,” muttered Haesel as she traipsed up to her chambers. She wanted to scream and throw things, anything to destroy the façade of perfectionism she was being ruthlessly stuffed into. She knew they meant well, all of them, but she couldn’t take being trapped in the manor another minute. She felt stifled, smothered, and so unlike herself that she feared others’ plans and intentions for her would consume her very being.

“I wish I could be sixteen forever.” 

If it would keep her family from being torn apart, she would gladly never grow up. These past few weeks it had felt like her family had been living under the pall of a Contentious Curse. How else could love and understanding so quickly turn into petty (though always polite) fighting and quarrelsomeness?

Haesel stalked into her room, slammed the door behind her, and then stripped to her shift. She dropped her robes on the floor and kicked them with one slipper-shod foot. “Stupid, stupid.”

Why couldn’t they just get along? Why couldn’t they agree on something—anything? Why did  _ she _ have to be the cause of all the recent disputes? There had to be something that she could do; Haesel refused to accept that one birthday caused so much strife.

“Morgana, get them to stop!” 

In nothing but her shift (and bracelet wand-holster), she stormed over to the full-length mirror in her dressing room. Her appearance was one of the main factors in this mess. It was common knowledge that petite witches were the most powerful; Haesel was barely over five feet tall. However, she wasn’t just powerful. She was beautiful as well. She was the type of girl that other women wanted to be, and that men wanted to protect or possess—or both.

“If only . . .” Haesel muttered to herself, before turning her thoughts back to her far-too-favorable appearance.

Right then, she would have given almost anything to be tall, gangly, and hideous.

“You look lovely, dear,” the mirror assured her.

That was about the last thing Haesel wanted to hear. After toeing off her slippers, she donned a pair of leaf-patterned tights and then slid a long tunic that was embroidered with a magnificent hazel tree over her head. The fabric clung to her slender form and stopped just above her knees. She stepped into ankle-high boots as she tied a silk sash around her waist in a knot.

Her younger brother Henry had given her the tunic for her sixteenth birthday as a joke. It was technically casual-wear for young wizards, and certainly something that pureblood witches weren’t meant to wear. Haesel didn’t care. It was her favorite item in her wardrobe. Playing by the rules was for witches who didn’t have a Marauder as a father.

“That’s a mite improper, dear. Are you sure you want to wear it?” The mirror sounded scandalized at the thought of a Potter maiden showing not only ankle but also calf and knee as well.

“Quite,” Haesel replied, lips curled in a fierce grin. 

She had just stepped out of her room when a loud whistling sound echoed through the hallway. Haesel glanced to the left to see her fifteen-year-old brother, Henry Potter, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. He was wearing a similar tunic over a pair of black trousers, though his tunic was crimson—one of the family heraldry colors. His hair was a pale blond mess. He had their father’s hazel eyes—though they appeared golden more often than not.

Henry put a hand to his heart and grinned. “The Perfect Pureblood Princess has decided to grace this lowly peasant with her presence. I beg you, Princess, let me grovel at your feet.”

The nickname her fellow Hogwarts’ students had given her usually irritated her. There was nothing perfect about her, and she hated how willfully blind they were just because of her strong magic. Coming from her brother’s lips, it was nothing but humorous. Besides, the nickname he had received at school was even worse.

Haesel pressed the back of her left hand to her forehead. “Oh! How could a mere princess allow the Golden God to grovel at her feet? Surely the princess would swoon when he appeared before her.” Thus saying, she crumpled towards the floor.

Strong hands caught her as she had known they would. Her brother was as protective of her as she was of him; their sibling bond was unshakable in her mind.

Henry kissed her forehead before righting her. His hands settled on her shoulders as she stared up at him. “How bad is it today?” he asked.

She gestured to the tunic he had given her.

He winced. “So bad you’re rebelling?” 

“Yes.”

“And what are they fighting about today?” Henry asked as he rubbed her shoulders.

Her lips quirked in a bitter smile. “Who gets my first waltz. Mum thinks Neville should have it. Grandmother says Malfoy is the best choice.” Haesel shrugged, causing her brother’s hands to fall away, and then crossed her arms over her chest. 

Why wouldn’t they ask her opinion? Didn’t she have the right to say who touched her? Then again, they likely thought she didn’t have a preference, since she hadn’t spoken up. But . . . Haesel couldn’t give them a name she didn’t  _ have. _

A half-formed memory from fifth year came back to her; she had felt possessive, protective masculine magic engulf her when she needed it the most. Haesel hadn’t felt a hint of it since and couldn’t help but hope that the wizard was waiting for her to come of age to reveal himself.

“Hmm. Not Zach despite your obvious preference?” Henry teased. 

Haesel was not going to dignify that with a response. He knew she did not have romantic feelings for Zacharias Smith, despite their closeness.

“I wish I was old enough that it wouldn’t be an issue. Last I heard, Granddad forbade me because I’m not sixteen. I would’ve saved you from all this if I could have. I know how much you hate strangers touching you,” Henry sighed, patting her head.

Haesel had a very good reason for that dislike, but she didn’t want to dwell on it. She hadn’t had the nightmare in months. She would do nothing to encourage its return.

“It’s not your fault. I just . . . I don’t want to give anyone false hope, you know? Whoever they pick is likely going to think I favor him personally. It’s stupid that I can’t dance with you, even if you are underage; I don’t have to worry about you groping me. It’s even more stupid that I can’t dance with Grandfather or Dad because they’re married.” Haesel glared at the wall. That would have made her life much easier, and she would have felt more secure about the upcoming gala. She always felt safe with the men in her family; they would never willingly let something bad happen to her.

“Neville wouldn’t be so bad,” Henry said. “He wouldn’t dare try anything.”

“I know!” Haesel said. Neville Longbottom was unfailingly honorable. She didn’t doubt that in the least. “I know he wouldn’t try anything, but it’s my first waltz, and—”

“And?”

Haesel sighed, squeezed her eyes shut, and leaned against her brother’s chest. Neville was sweet, honorable, and very dear to her heart; there was no question about that. He came from a good family and would never treat her ill. She knew almost everything about him because they had been good friends since they were little—a result of the godsibling bond they shared.

“And he’ll think it means something, Henry. He’ll assume I requested him as my partner. Neville will believe I’ve fallen in love with him,” she whispered.

“What’s so bad about that?” Henry asked. “You have to know he’s devoted to you.”

Haesel winced. “I know.” She leaned back, almost breaking the comforting hug. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else. Okay?” 

Henry’s eyes narrowed, all hint of humor vanished. No Potter ever spoke those words lightly. A Potter’s word, once given, could never be broken. “You have my word.” 

A magically binding vow of silence was all that could get her to speak one of her darkest secrets. Not dark because it was evil, but dark because it would cause great injury to someone she cared about if he ever learned of it.

“Henry—” Her tongue felt thick, as if it had swollen until her mouth was full. She had kept this secret since she was eleven years old and her magic and body began maturing.

“Let me share this burden, Haesel,” Henry said after she had fallen silent for several minutes.

In a society where godsiblings bonded more often than not, she knew her next words would shock her brother to the core. 

“Our magic is utterly incompatible.”

Henry gasped and gaped at her, arms falling to his sides. “Merlin! Are you serious?” 

“Deadly.” Haesel curled her arms around her stomach and pretended that the toes of her boots were the most interesting things in the world. Despite all the time she spent with Neville and how loyal and upstanding he was, she could never accept his hand in courtship. Their magic was incompatible. If her magical gifts weren’t a family secret, she would have told him years ago to spare him the pain. If she hadn’t been as powerful as she was, he would have been the perfect husband. So while Haesel’s feelings for Neville were brotherly, his weren’t. 

The only thing that saved her peace of mind was that he wasn’t  _ in love _ with her.

“You’re right,” Henry rasped, still stunned and shaken. “Giving him your first waltz would be exceedingly cruel.”

“I know. I don’t have the heart to tell Mum. That’s just not something you tell others; it’s too private. I shouldn’t even have told you,” she confessed with a flinch.

Henry’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. “No, Haesel, you were right to tell me. I won’t think less of him; few men will be found worthwhile by your magic as powerful as you are. Besides, you keep my secrets—it’s only right that you allow me to share the burden of yours.” 

“Thank you,” Haesel said, a sincere smile on her face. He was correct, after all. She knew many of his secrets, and she knew he would never betray hers.

Henry ruffled her plaits. “Now, what do you say we head to the lounge, you can scandalize them with your daring and improper outfit, and then we’ll get away from all this drama.”

Haesel chuckled, appreciating his attempt to lighten her mood. He was right. Getting out of the manor could only help, and she had already planned to do that when she’d chosen to wear the tunic. Taking him with her, so he could avoid the chaos too, only seemed fair. “All right.”

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

Her mother had gotten ill while she was pregnant with Henry and almost lost him. Isadore had been unable to conceive again after he was born, but Haesel never wondered about what any other brothers or sisters might have been like. She just thanked Morgana for saving Henry.

“I wouldn’t want any other,” he replied.

“Good, because you’re stuck with me.”

When she stepped through the doorway into the lounge, Haesel had to resist the urge to throw a Blasting Curse at the windows. Her grandmother and mother were still debating candidates for her first waltz partner, and she had been absent from the room for over an hour.

“What about Heir Flint? He’s a strapping fellow.”

“He just got engaged to that Italian heiress. Master McLaggen—”

“Is a womanizing tosser who won’t lay a hand on my sister unless he wishes to lose it. I’ll happily sever it from his wrist if he wishes to do so,” Henry snapped.

“Language, young man!” Dorea scolded, not looking away from some fabric samples in her hands. 

“I taught you better than that, Henry,” Isadore said as she flipped pages in a book of designs for floral arrangements.

Henry snorted. “You also said that being honest is more important than being politic.”

“I—” Isadore glanced up from the book, nearly dropping it in horror. “Haesel, what in the name of Morgana are you wearing?” 

“Clothes.”

Dorea’s lips twitched at the response when she glanced over at them, but then she said, “Don’t get smart with your mother, young lady.”

Henry swung an arm around Haesel’s shoulders. “We are going out now.”

“Not dressed like that,” Isadore said, her eyes locked on Haesel’s knees. Her comment was ignored. 

“We’re not coming back until you both stop quarreling over my stupid gala,” Haesel said, wanting to end the pointless contention.

“It’s not stupid! We love you, and just want you to have the best of everything!” Dorea protested.

At the same time, Isadore whispered, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Quite,” Haesel retorted. “I won’t sleep under this roof another night if you two keep acting like this. I’ll refuse to waltz with anyone if you don’t stop bickering.” 

Haesel hooked an arm about her brother’s waist and made sure she had a tight grasp on him. The last thing she wanted to do was lose or splinch him whilst she Side-Along Apparated him to their destination; he would  _ never _ let her forget it. She wouldn’t be able to thank Uncle Sirius enough for teaching her how to Apparate before she could even qualify for a license. He had made her escape from this hell possible.

“So before we return, fix this,” Haesel commanded. 

“Or I’ll find Haesel somewhere else to stay until the gala. I might even join her,” Henry said cheekily.

Before either woman could reply, Haesel and Henry Disapparated.


	2. Part the Second

Haesel and Henry reappeared in a chamber that was floor-to-ceiling yellow marble—the Apparition Chamber in The Golden Fleece. The Golden Fleece was the most elite pureblood club. It forbade the use of offensive magic and was only open to those fourteen and older. A variety of entertainment options were available for those worthy (and lucky) enough to be allowed entrance. The Potters were invited and written down in the books when it first opened centuries ago. 

“Yes!” Henry said, pumping one fist in the air as he squeezed Haesel against his side. “I love it here!”

“I know.” Haesel smirked. 

Her brother had been banned (by their grandfather) from coming alone after the time he rigged several of the games in the Gambling Hall so people he didn’t like would lose. Though her father had been proud of Henry, especially for not getting caught, her mother and grandparents hadn’t been amused in the least. As a result, he could only come when someone had the time and inclination to chaperone him.

Henry picked Haesel up and spun her in a circle, laughing gleefully. “Thank you! Thank you!” Henry cheered.

“All right, you’re welcome. Put me down now! We’re keeping the chamber occupied. That’s rude,” she chided as he set her back on her feet. 

Haesel smoothed the tunic down as far as it would go and then took a fortifying breath. Here she was, days from her coming of age gala, about to enter a premier club in wizard’s clothing. She dared anyone to comment.

“Let’s go, then!” said Henry as he offered her his arm, a gallant smile on his face. His eyes twinkled at her, daring her to take it and let him act as escort. “My lady.” He bowed mockingly.

“How gallant you are, Master Potter,” she teased. Haesel laid her right arm atop his left, her open palm resting over the back of his hand. 

Henry tilted his chin and stuck his nose in the air. “I daresay, Lady Haesel, that the peerage will be quite jealous I’ve been gifted with your company. The most beautiful woman in England—on my arm! Why, they shall simply faint with envy.”

A soft snort escaped Haesel, though she would deny it to her dying day. “That’s enough, git. Let’s go do something. I didn’t escape the manor to stare at yellow marble or your face all day.”

Henry pouted as he led her toward the lobby. “I’ll have you know that many people find me quite attractive.”

Her laughter was vivacious, drawing attention as they stepped into the club proper. “Don’t worry, Henry. I’m sure plenty of people are dying to bond with you for more than your fortune. If only fortune-hunters were my only worry,” she said, biting her lip. 

Sighing, Henry flipped his arm over and rubbed his thumb across her palm. “We’ll keep you safe,” he promised.

That was a Potter vow—one she had heard many times in her life. Whenever a daughter was born into the family, three of her male relatives were required to offer a Vow of Protection. Though she was unable to remember the vow on her own, she had seen it in her father’s Pensieve. Because a Potter’s word could not be broken by any means except death, their witches had protection from imminent danger. If such a situation were eminent, all Potter males bound to the female in danger would be forcibly Apparated to her side; it was their ultimate protection, and one of the Potter family’s greatest secrets.

“I know.” 

Haesel wasn’t a bigot, but she felt safest around purebloods. They had their own money and power; they valued bloodlines and honor above all else. A pureblood was  _ nothing _ without honor. Unlike the Muggle-born students who refused to learn wizarding customs, they would never be so crass as to ask her out on a date, like that revolting Colin Creevey had. Then, as if her humiliation and anger at the situation weren’t enough, he had dared to make the request in front of several purebloods! 

Luckily for Haesel, her mum’s youngest brother—Uncle Valerius—had been present at the time, being only a year older than herself. He and several of the other Slytherins had cursed and hexed Creevey until he acquired a three-week stay in the hospital wing. 

“Little lady! It’s good to see you!”

Haesel startled as she realized she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. She grinned up at her favorite uncle. “Uncle Valerius, how are you?” 

She tilted her head out of habit, and he leaned down to kiss both of her cheeks. She returned the loving gesture. 

“Better now that you’re here. I didn’t think you’d ever escape your mother’s clutches,” Valerius replied. “I’ve barely seen you all summer.”

“Not by choice, I assure you.”

Blue eyes swept down her figure. “You’re actually wearing it. I can’t believe it,” said Valerius, as he gestured to her tunic. “Isadore must have had fits.”

“Neither can Mum or Grandmother,” she whispered, grinning cheekily as her brother and uncle laughed with her. 

“And how’s the little king today?” Valerius asked Henry. 

It was a Potter family tradition to name the eldest male son after an English king, seeing as they were the last remnants of the Pendragon line. Grandfather Charlus’s own father was seen as something of a rebel for using an alternate spelling of Charles. Henry claimed he would name his firstborn son Arthur, much to their father’s amusement and grandfather’s consternation.

Given the mark Mother Magic had placed on her skin, Haesel couldn’t help but wonder if Henry’s claim was prophetic.

“Grateful to be here,” said Henry. “What are you doing here, Uncle Valerius? Are you looking for a fencing opponent?” He bounced on the balls of his feet as he asked.

“I’m afraid Valerius has already engaged me for his next match, Master Potter.”

Haesel glanced to her left and locked gazes with Marcus Flint. He had plain brown eyes and hair, and thin lips. Without the aquiline nose and high, sharp cheekbones, he wouldn’t have resembled a pureblood.

Marcus bowed to her, his face expressionless, as it had been every time she had ever seen it. “Lady Haesel. My apologies for interrupting.” His monotone voice neither confirmed nor denied the validity of his words.

“Apology accepted, Heir Flint,” Haesel replied. The short curtsey she gave should have looked ridiculous, given the length of the tunic, but she made it look elegant instead of awkward. She also didn’t miss the many eyes that were drawn to her legs; she ignored them, though, when said gazes didn’t reveal anything but admiration.

“Our fencing hall is ready, Valerius,” Marcus said, revealing the reason he had intruded upon their conversation.

“It’s that time already? Very well, Marcus. I’ll be along in just a minute,” Valerius said. He turned his attention back to Henry. “Another time, all right?”

“Soon?” asked Henry.

“Yes, soon.” Before Henry could open his mouth again, Valerius said, “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

Chuckling, Valerius nodded. “I know. I know.” He patted Henry on the shoulder and then faced Haesel, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. “Will you two be able to join me for dinner? It’s been much too long since we shared a meal.”

“Oh, please! Can we, Haesel?”

She rolled her eyes at her brother and then nodded to her uncle. “We’d be delighted, Uncle Valerius. Where would you like to meet?” 

Did he want to use one of the dining rooms here? Or was he thinking of a family dinner with the Vaiseys? Perhaps he had a new restaurant in mind? Knowing Uncle Valerius, it was the latter; he was obsessed with frequenting the newest premier eateries.

Valerius twirled his finger, indicating the lobby. It resembled the inside of an ash tree—with rings on the floor and grained walls. Each exit seemed to be a branch growing off a massive tree. Technically, the lobby was the Yggdrasil room; each room in the club had its own name, based off décor or purpose. “Eight o’clock work for you?” he asked.

Haesel cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her brother. “Think we can entertain ourselves for five hours?” When Henry grinned wickedly, she clarified, “Without rigging games in the Gambing Hall, causing mayhem, or starting a blood feud.”

Henry pouted and pulled away from her, as if she had just threatened to assassinate pranksters all over the world. “Eight o’clock will be fine,” he said to Valerius, never taking his hurt-filled eyes off Haesel.

“See you then.” He turned and left for his match.

“Mentioning all the fun things I can’t do is just mean,” Henry said. 

She wouldn’t have been surprised if he stuck out his tongue; in fact, she was impressed he didn’t since they were in public. He definitely would have in the manor.

Haesel rested her hand on his arm in consolation. “I just need you to focus on all the fun things that you  _ can _ do.”

He shrugged. “This is your escape attempt. What do you want to do?” 

The serious tone of his voice gave her pause and reminded her that her brother was growing up. Just a year ago, Henry would’ve waved his arm and dragged her off to do whatever had caught his fancy. Now he was trying to get her mind off her coming of age gala (nightmare) and was willing to let her pick what they did.

Haesel saw the other wizards and witches in the room observing them.  _ I’ve never seen so many people absolutely salivating for gossip, _ she thought snidely. She wasn’t in the mood to gossip, or answer countless questions from strangers and acquaintances—not that she ever was. Haesel prized her privacy above most things in life.

“I wish the Jasmine room wasn’t booked to the minute this time of year,” she said. “The occupancy limit is divine.” 

The Jasmine room was a tearoom with an attached oriental garden that was restricted to four occupants maximum. Her parents had met there on their first courtship date, and she adored it for its history. It was so popular that it was booked months in advance.

“It is,” Henry agreed. 

Haesel’s second favorite room wouldn’t guarantee them privacy at all. The Gallery allowed fifty occupants. She and Henry liked to stand before the newest exhibits and whisper about how awful they were.

“The Gallery?” 

“Brilliant idea, Haesel. Let’s go!” 

Wizards and witches left the Yggdrasil room as quickly as was polite; almost all of them heading down the hallway that led to the Gallery. Haesel wondered if the Gallery would already be full to capacity before they even reached it. She wanted to stamp her foot at the whispering that had already started, catching her name more than once. 

“Did you see what she’s wearing?”

“I can’t believe her mother let her out of the manor!”

Once the lobby was almost empty, Henry leaned down and whispered, “Did you still want to mock paintings, or was that a decoy plan to make them all go away so we could sneak off to a different room?”

Haesel laughed. “I did want to mock paintings, but now that so many people will be there, likely waiting to interrogate me—”

“Very politely and properly, of course,” Henry interjected.

“Oh, of course!” Haesel agreed. “Any other activity and room suddenly holds a greater appeal.” 

It was a pity, because she really  _ did _ miss mocking ugly paintings. However, the last thing she wanted was to listen to endless demanding questions about her coming of age gala, suitors, dancing, etc., etc., etc., ad nauseam. She had no doubt, whatsoever, that such things would be the primary topic of conversation. Haesel had fled the manor to avoid all that; toppling into a pool of similar questions and suggestions defeated the whole point of coming here.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Henry said. The few people in the room smirked in their direction at the assertion, which was louder than normal. He had a habit of getting louder and more boisterous when he was excited about something—such as accidentally tricking a mass of people into leaving them alone.

“Why don’t we go—?”

“Haesel!” a familiar voice hollered, cutting her off and causing her to spin around in shock. He never yelled at her in public! “Please, for the love of Merlin, do me a favor and kill me this instant!”


	3. Part the Third

“Zach, what’s the matter?” Haesel asked. 

She was stunned by the horror, helpless disgust, and anger in his magic. It took her a moment to realize she had addressed him casually in public, but she didn’t care what anyone thought of the situation. Zacharias Smith was her best friend; he didn’t treat her like she should be placed upon a pedestal and worshipped. He treated her like a normal person. She adored him for it. If her mother and grandmother couldn’t reach a decision, she would order him to accept her first waltz.

As it was, having each dueled for the other’s honor more than once, they shared something of a symbiotic sibling bond. He was one of a very limited number of people that she trusted implicitly.

Zach’s magic lashed out as he strode across the room. Everyone’s attention was centered on him (which he usually adored), but he wasn’t grinning. His handsome face was twisted in a tight frown. His blond hair seemed to defy gravity, and his brown eyes spat hatred. With every step closer he took, she could see how much he had grown during his magical maturity a month earlier. 

Haesel had been livid when her parents had forbidden her from attending his party, and had agreed to settle for sending him the newest broom on the market: a Solar Flare. Zach deserved more than a gift sent by owl just because she was ‘coming out’ soon. What her parents didn’t know was that she had Apparated to Smith Castle that night and spent hours with him. 

“I’m serious, Haesel. Kill me. Right now would be brilliant,” Zach snapped as he stopped before her, chest rising and falling. He raised one hand and shoved it through his short hair agitatedly.

Haesel placed one hand on his chest and bit her lip as she felt nothing beating inside it. 

“Zach, tell me what’s wrong,” she ordered. 

Zach loved life and himself too much to ever ask such a favor from her—and she would never kill him. What had caused her best friend to so utterly lose his composure?

Zach leaned down until his face was obscenely close to hers; she could feel his breath on her lips when he said, “Mother wants to arrange a betrothal contract with Granger.”

_ “What?” _

What had he just said? She couldn’t possibly have heard that right. Lady Ophelia Smith wanted to arrange a betrothal contract for her son, a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff (from the main line), with a Muggle-born?

“Kill me.” 

Zach grabbed her hand, which made Henry step even closer to her. Before Henry could object, Zach yanked her hand upward. He pressed the gem that released her wand from her bracelet-holster into her hand, and then pointed it at his throat. He had been forced to lean back as he manhandled her, but he bent his head just enough to whisper, “Don’t make me beg, Haesel. Just do it.”

“Offensive magic doesn’t work here. You know that,” Henry interjected, gaze narrowed on Zach. “She couldn’t kill you even if she felt like it. But I will gladly rearrange your face if you don’t release her, Smith. You’re bruising her,” Henry spat, hands balling into fists.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Henry. Zach would never hurt me,” Haesel said absently as she drafted and discarded scenarios one after the other. 

At the same time, Zach snarled, “I would never hurt her!” 

“Then prove it,” Henry said. 

His jaw was locked and, for just a moment, the resemblance to their father was uncanny. Haesel couldn’t remember seeing that look since a wizard in Diagon Alley had dared to proposition her mother—in front of her father. The wizard’s suffering for doing so was still whispered about in drawing rooms.

Zach loosened his hold and kissed her wrists apologetically. “Haesel, may I request your company elsewhere, then? Just outside the wards would be acceptable.” 

The shadow on his countenance tugged at her heart. How could his mother do something like this to him?

“You didn’t tell her?” Haesel guessed. 

Zach was deeply, irrevocably  _ in love _ already. He was so  _ in love _ that he had lost his heart. To be told he had to accept a betrothal contract with someone else—and Granger, of all people—must feel like a terrible betrayal.

“She wouldn’t listen to me. She’s always worse when Father’s out of the country on business. You know that,” Zach gritted out.

Indeed, she did. 

Lady Smith had been born into a pureblood family of low standing and little wealth. Catching the eye of Lord Smith was her greatest achievement in life. Unfortunately, the wealth and power of being Lady of a high-ranking family had gone to her head. In her husband’s absence, she pretended she held all the power and control. Since it was a mother’s duty to organize courtship dates and betrothal contracts, Zach would be subjected to whatever Lady Smith wished to arrange.

“But why Granger?” Haesel asked in disbelief. 

Why would Lady Smith even consider a Muggle-born, let alone  _ that _ one? Haesel had nothing against Muggle-borns in general, but she couldn’t stand Hermione Granger.

“Aside from yourself and Heiress Greengrass, she has the next highest grades in our year. Also, she thinks new blood will strengthen the family magics.”

Lady Smith had picked Granger because of her school grades? Was she mental? “Granger  _ is not _ a New Blood!”

Henry cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. “I’m afraid I couldn’t help but overhear. Your mother wants to betroth you to Hermione Granger, correct?”

Zach nodded sharply, eyes haunted.

Haesel felt terrible for him. If it were courtship dates, at least he could stop seeing her after three. If it were an engagement, he would be able to break it. There were very few ways to break a betrothal contract, and all of them were ugly. Lady Smith’s obsessive, petty need to feel important was infuriating!

Dusky red colored Henry’s cheeks as he glanced down at the floor. “In that case, I am honor-bound to inform you that the female in question is without virtue. As such, a betrothal contract is impossible.”

Haesel blinked and barely kept her jaw from dropping in shock. She knew Granger was a know-it-all, who often lorded her knowledge over others and refused to accept the wizarding way of life (saying house-elves were enslaved and purebloods were  _ wrong _ about most everything), but she would never have guessed that the uptight girl would  _ give her virginity away _ before bonding! 

“You’re absolutely positive?” Zach asked, eyes narrowed and voice harsh.

Henry nodded. “I . . . chanced upon her and a pureblood wizard in  _ flagrante delicto _ last year at Hogwarts.”

It must have been McLaggen, Haesel realized. 

Granger accompanied Cormac McLaggen to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas Party, and was seen with him often after. Henry’s promise to cut off McLaggen’s hands if he touched her suddenly made a lot more sense. Besides, every other pureblood wizard she knew would’ve been smart enough to ensure total privacy before. . . . Haesel couldn’t even finish the thought. 

How dare they subject her little brother to something like that? What if one of the young witches had walked in on them? The girls would have been traumatized for life! Just thinking of stumbling across something like that made her feel ill.

Physical intimacy was only to occur in privacy between a lord-husband and his lady-wife.

“I’m sorry, Haesel, for having to speak of such things in your presence,” Henry whispered, mortified. 

“It’s fine. You did it to help Zach,” Haesel said, even though she felt dirty. She didn’t want such pictures in her mind; they had no place there.

“Then I won’t need you to kill me, Haesel,” Zach said. 

His shoulders sagged with relief, muscles unknotting. He finally smiled and then kissed Haesel’s cheeks. The people still present in the room eyed Zach suspiciously, as if he were mad.

“When were you supposed to meet her?” asked Haesel.

Zach paled, as if he might faint. “The day after your gala.”

“Right. I know you don’t like tattling, but your father needs to know what his wife is doing. You’re his only son, and you deserve better than Granger. If she insists on being difficult and your father won’t take her in hand, then we’ll gladly give you asylum,” said Haesel. 

“I will,” Zach agreed. “I . . .” He swallowed and stared into her eyes, his hand clenching at his empty chest as he whispered, “I couldn’t bear to lose Rose before I’ve even received a chance to win her.” 

“Well, you haven’t lost her yet. I can’t imagine you losing her at all,” Haesel said as she turned and placed one arm atop his and her other atop her brother’s. 

Zach had fallen hopelessly  _ in love _ with Rose Zeller, a Hufflepuff three years younger than they were. Rose was a sweet girl with scarlet hair down to her hips and aureate eyes from her mother’s line. She was sassy and vivacious and would make an ideal wife for Zach. They were such a close match magically that she knew Rose would never settle for anyone but Zach, unless he was stolen from her by Lady Smith’s asinine machinations.

Haesel had never offered asylum to anyone before, but she meant it whole-heartedly. She would not allow Lady Smith to ruin her best friend’s future.

“What do we have planned?” asked Zach, neatly insinuating himself into their afternoon. Zach was much more handsome when he was calm. 

“Well, we said we were headed for the Gallery. . . .” Henry’s voice trailed off as he stared down at her.

“What would you like to do now, Haesel?” inquired Zach, purposely leaving off her title and smirking at two old wizards who frowned at him in blatant disapproval.

“Treating  _ her, _ of all people, that way.”

“Some of this younger generation possesses no manners.”

“What’s her brother thinking, letting that ingrate anywhere near her?”

“He grabbed her as if she were a Muggle!”

Haesel rolled her eyes at them before pondering Zach’s question. “We said we’d go to the Gallery. I’ll not be called a liar.” Even if they didn’t stay for long, honor demanded that she and her brother make an appearance.

“Now there’s a proper lady. If only I were younger,” one ancient wizard muttered. 

Haesel decided to be flattered, instead of horrified. However, she felt the arms underneath hers shaking with amusement. Her escorts were such children, she thought fondly. Though, to be fair, Lord Wallace’s comment had been absurdly entertaining.

“What do you want to bet that Lord Prewett returned for a chance at winning your hand?” Zach asked, something he had mentioned countless times since  _ the Daily Prophet _ declared the Magizoologist’s return to England.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but I really should have. People say he’s a Fire Mage; maybe he finally found someone hot enough to bear his heirs,” Henry said with a smirk, teasingly wiggling his eyebrows.

Haesel groaned.

“Why, the very few who have seen him since his return say that he’s dashing. Perhaps the Perfect Pureblood Princess has caught his attention,” Zach said. 

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Zach was ever fond of picking on her, as friends often did. He seemed determined to treat her like he treated everyone else and she loved him for that.

“Who could dare resist the great Lord Prewett? You would have even more power, wealth, and prestige than you already do,” asked Henry, who was grinning. 

Haesel stared down at her toes and sighed. Zach and Henry adored tag-teaming her with teasing about potential suitors. It usually ended faster if she didn’t entertain them with responses, but she couldn’t always hold her tongue.

“With an estate as grand as his surely is, heirs are a necessity. Just think of how adorable your children will be!” Zach waved his other arm through the air with excessive enthusiasm. 

Haesel rolled her eyes. “He’s just as likely to be back here to bail Fred and George out of a spot of trouble.”

“Well, he certainly won’t have come to see his mother. She had no place hiding his future lordship from him because he was ‘just a boy’ and didn’t ‘need to be burdened with adult things.’ Molly Weasley is even more controlling than my mother, and that’s saying something! Sorting Slytherin was quite possibly the best revenge he could have gotten on her, unless he officially disinherited her,” Zach said, snickering.

“I still can’t believe she let him think his name was Charlie Weasley for the first eleven years of his life. What would be more shocking at age eleven than to receive a Hogwarts letter addressed to your true magical name and learn your parents have lied to you for years? Missus Weasley put the Prewett family magic at jeopardy. He will never be able to forgive that,” Henry added.

The scandal was over a decade old. Due to the outrageousness of it, it would never be forgotten.

“As well he shouldn’t,” Haesel said. 

Nothing was worth risking losing the magic a family had built and nurtured for generations. A family had to be over five hundred years old to develop family magic. For Missus Weasley to put it at risk to spare her son early responsibility was unconscionable.

They were almost to the Gallery now. 

Haesel sighed and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Before either Zach or Henry could reply, she straightened her shoulders and reigned in her patience. Haesel stepped closer to the doors, which opened at their approach. Several people turned to face them, including Lucius and Draco Malfoy, whom she had hoped to avoid today. Lycoris Lestrange was sitting dutifully beside her cousin. The genuine happiness on Draco’s face was overshadowed by the calculating glint in Lucius’s eyes.

Even here among acquaintances, she was just something to covet.

Haesel hadn’t even had her coming of age gala yet, and she was already tired of society.


	4. Part the Fourth

A few hours later, Haesel and her companions were out in the garden having tea. 

Haesel’s teacup leaned precariously in her grasp. She hadn’t taken a sip since someone—she wasn’t sure who—had handed it to her. Her palm cradled the bottom of the porcelain cup, and her fingers were curled around it like claws; it was how she held her teacups in private, not public. She was in public. She knew that, but it couldn’t quite seem to register.

The last few hours were a mere blur in her mind. Haesel remembered walking into the Gallery with Henry and Zach; she recalled the grins on Draco and Lycoris’s faces when they had seen her. Had they looked at paintings? She vaguely knew there had been a conversation about an upcoming Quidditch match, or some such. There was a hazy memory about an invitation to late tea in the rose gardens.

The tea in her cup sloshed close to the rim, but didn’t spill over, as a tremble wracked her form.

The only moment that stood out sharp in her memory was when she had come in contact with an unknown wizard’s magic.

_ That magic. _ Lady Morgana, that magic had  _ begged _ for her attention. 

She had only felt it for the barest moment before it was snatched from her senses’ reach. It was heady, immense, and teased along her own like a lover’s caress. It felt dangerous and utterly safe at the same time—a juxtaposition that was strangling her nerves.

How long had it been since she had felt magic like that? Magic that was unrepentantly steadfast? Dumbledore’s, obviously. The French Minister for Magic’s didn’t fall embarrassingly short. One of the young male Ravenclaws showed great potential, and Blaise Zabini’s cousin—the leader of a magical tribe that practiced only the Olde Magicks. There had been two wizards from Durmstrang during the Triwizard Tournament, and one from Beauxbatons. 

It wasn’t necessarily the strength of  _ the magic, _ but the qualities it displayed. Magic radiated emotions, and most of the people Haesel met unwittingly broadcasted their insecurities. She had no desire to be courted by an indecisive wizard.

As someone who knew what and who she was (and the immense responsibility her personal future held), Haesel knew exactly what she wanted for herself: a loyal, loving, decisive, trustworthy wizard.

It was only present for a moment, but the magic had clung to her possessively. Unable to help herself, she had let hers brush against it ever so slightly in return. She had blindly reached back for it. There was a fine line between daring and foolishness; she had just crossed it.

_ What was I thinking? What in Morgana’s name was I thinking? _ Haesel demanded of herself. 

Then, after the unknown wizard’s intoxicating magic was beyond her reach, she felt an ache in her chest. It was still there.

The wizard’s magic had felt so resolutely honorable that Haesel could have almost mistaken him for a Potter. It felt like he could match her magically, and that was a dangerous conclusion to reach. Finding favor with a complete stranger was the height of stupidity, especially since she hadn’t met or seen the wizard.

Haesel had three absolute truths about the mystery wizard—only three. He was a pureblood, or else he wouldn’t have been able to enter The Golden Fleece. He was magically powerful and decisive; there was no doubt in this matter. Also, he was hazardous to her state of mind.

That haunting pull began again. 

He was still somewhere in the club with his magic reaching out to her, but he stopped it from connecting. That only impressed her even more. Haesel was still underage for a few more days. With how compatible their magic had felt in that single moment of contact, his restraint impressed her.

It took all her self-control to not get up and go looking for him.

Haesel kicked off her boots and curled her legs up on the sofa. She burrowed against her brother’s side, allowing his magic to hide her from the searching tendrils that longed for her attention. Helping the wizard retain control was the least she could do. 

Henry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and asked, “What’s wrong, Haesel?”

Her head jerked upward and her arm moved with her. Before the tea could spill and scald them, her brother removed the cup from her hand and set it on the table.

Henry grasped her chin and stared into her eyes. His magic stretched out even more and sealed around her, completely muffling her magical signature. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong with the tea?”

Haesel felt heat rushing to her cheeks as she realized exactly where she was—The Golden Fleece. She had been so lost in the brief encounter with the mystery wizard’s magic that she had completely forgotten decorum. She was snuggled against her brother in public with her feet on the furniture. If her companions had been anyone else, she would’ve been horribly embarrassed.

“Malfoy probably spiked it with a love potion,” Zach said with a smirk.

“I did not!”

Haesel cast grateful eyes to Zach for offering such a ludicrous comment. She cocked a mocking eyebrow and said, “And you just let him without saying anything to me.” 

“Absolutely,” Zach teased.

A quick glance from the corner of her eyes showed that Lycoris and Draco were now staring at Zach in disbelief. Her odd behavior was forgotten for the moment. Thank Morgana. She really loved her best friend.

Haesel shook her head and smiled smugly, finally able to relax due to the silly banter and the protective feeling of her brother’s magic. “Zach. Zach. Zach. I’m not the one—”

“Now, now, are you really going to deny the truth? I give the best hugs on the planet, thank you very much,” Henry interrupted, having caught the drift of the conversation: distraction. 

“Well, Master Henry certainly doesn’t have self-esteem problems,” said Lycoris, as she smoothed one hand over her ebony hair. 

“Who would with Haesel snuggled against them?” Draco asked. 

“You’re absolutely right! We’re so lovely a sight that we should charge people a Galleon a minute to gawk at us,” Haesel said as she gazed up at her brother, letting her amusement shine from her eyes. 

Lycoris tittered, Zach snickered, and Draco chuckled. 

While they were all focused on her brother, she put her boots back onto her feet and returned them to the ground. While none of her dear friends would care, the rest of the purebloods who could stumble across them would. The last thing Haesel needed right now was an article in a gossip column saying that she had been caught partially undressed in public.

Now, if only the feel of his magic could be so easily erased from her mind. Her coming of age gala was only days away, and temptation had just delivered itself unto her. 

“So, do tell. Who, exactly, is being honored with your first waltz?” Lycoris asked as she turned obsidian eyes on Haesel.

An intense urge to hex Lycoris overcame her; luckily for her friend, Haesel had long since trained her magic not to lash out at others every time she was upset. Lycoris was more often than not great company, but when the gossipy, nit-picking part of her personality surfaced, Haesel could barely stomach her presence. 

It didn’t help that Draco had leaned forward in his seat and stilled utterly, as if someone had petrified him. He was, hands down, the worst gossip in Hogwarts. It was something he had learned at his mother’s knee. While Haesel had benefited from his obsessive need to know every rumor, it was annoying right now.

“Not me,” Henry said with a pout. 

He was always coming to her rescue when he could, helping her avoid situations she found awkward or uncomfortable. However, the moue of disapproval on Lycoris’s face said she wouldn’t let Henry save Haesel this time.

“You’re fifteen. It can’t be you,” Lycoris said, not unkindly.

“Well, I don’t want it. I like being the positive center of attention. Whoever gets your first waltz is going to be hated by the majority of bachelor wizards in Britain. So don’t pick me, Haesel, because I’ll leave you standing alone on the dance floor in your revoltingly expensive gown,” Zach said as he grabbed a biscuit off the silver tray on the table, before leaning back in the armchair. 

“Gee, Zach, thanks for that,” Haesel said dryly. There he went, treating her like a normal human being again. His friendship truly was priceless.

He nodded and bit into the biscuit. “You’re welcome.”

“You don’t want her first waltz?” Draco and Lycoris asked in unison, both staring at him with unhidden shock.

Zach didn’t even bother swallowing before saying, “Not in the least.”

Draco looked at Zach as if he thought Zach should be locked up in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s—a place reserved for long-lasting damage and incurable diseases.

It seemed, though, that Lycoris was determined to get an answer to her original question, despite the wonderful tangents her brother and best friend had offered. 

“So, who is it? He’s surely been chosen by now. The gala is only days away!”

“Well, they ruled out Flint because he’s recently engaged,” Haesel said. 

Regardless that it was true, Lycoris would never believe that her partner hadn’t been decided upon yet. If Haesel said as much, it would be considered a blatant lie. How aggravating! Leaving the manor hadn’t saved her from the blasted topic, after all. 

“I removed McLaggen from the running. He’ll never lay a hand on her,” Henry said. 

His magic continued to blanket Haesel; it helped her control the urge to tell Lycoris and Draco to shut up.

“Longbottom, then?” Draco blurted, as if he were physically unable to restrain from participating in the conversation.

“Hmm, that would make sense. He is her only godbrother that’ll be of age. Cousins Leo and Aries are both fourteen, though they will be fifteen before the new school year. Cousins Antares, Orion, and Cepheus are much too young,” said Lycoris as she tapped a manicured fingernail against her lower lip. 

A rumbling laugh echoed through the rose garden from behind her. 

Haesel twisted around quickly, annoyed that anyone would be able to sneak up on them. Her own magic couldn’t sense as well when it was being sheltered; it was a small price to pay for being barricaded from the outside world, though. 

Thankfully, it was only Uncle Valerius.

“The little Blacks will not be graced with Haesel’s first waltz,” Valerius said as he sauntered over. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of Haesel’s cheeks, eyes narrowing at how she was almost huddled against Henry’s side.

“Uncle Valerius,” Haesel said, unrepentantly not leaving her brother’s one-armed hug.

“It seems you’ve lost track of time. It’s after eight o’clock and this is most definitely not the Yggdrasil room. If I’d known I would need to hunt you down, I would’ve made our reservations for later,” Valerius chided them.

Haesel almost leapt to her feet with excitement at being able to escape the terribly awkward conversation. Henry rose just as quickly, his arm falling from her shoulders to extend beside her; she placed hers atop it and smiled at their companions. 

“You’ll have to excuse us. We have a prior engagement. Lycoris, until later. Draco, we will look forward to that Quidditch match next week.”

“Any time that works for you, Lady Haesel. Just drop by,” Draco said.

Haesel nodded at him before turning toward her best friend. “Zach, I’ll have you know that the commissioned gown is only disgustingly expensive, not revoltingly so.” 

He snorted at her. 

“I expect I’ll see you quite soon. If you have any issues, my offer is eternally open-ended,” Haesel assured him, referring to her promise for asylum in the House of Potter.

Lycoris and Draco’s gazes sharpened at that, but neither would be crass enough to ask for clarification. Leaving them even more curious was just a subtle punishment for harassing her about the blasted gala that loomed over her head.

“Come along now. Being fashionably late and inappropriately late are unbearably close. Let it never be said that a Vaisey or Potter were inappropriately late,” Valerius said, turned, and gestured for them to follow as he stalked from the garden.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked, as soon as they were out of sight. 

She had known he would react like this once others weren’t around; he was always willing to cover for her, but he wanted to know why. It wasn’t often that she hid inside others’ magical signatures.

Haesel tightly gripped his wrist.  _ “His magic.” _

Henry stopped abruptly and cupped her face between his hands. There was a ferocious tone to his voice, as if he wanted to impale someone on the end of his favorite sword, when he asked, “Whose magic? What happened, Haesel?” 

She snuck a single tendril of magic free from her brother’s encompassing cloud and then yanked it back. He was still here. For that one moment, without protection, Haesel had known exactly where he was—up in the menagerie. It had been barely longer than an instant, but she had felt the pull; she had wanted to go to his side. Haesel would not allow that. She wasn’t weak. Her body and magic didn’t rule her mind.

“I swear I’ll tell you later.”

“All right, just tell me you’re okay,” Henry finally agreed, displeased with the delay. 

Haesel glanced up at her brother and confessed, “I’m not sure I am.”

Henry’s face hardened. She had seen her grandfather’s face exactly like this once. Some brainless twit of a witch had whispered rather loudly at one of the Potter family Yule Balls that a real pureblood witch would have been able to give Lord Charlus Potter more than one child. Hadn’t it taken precious Dorea Black over a decade and a half to get pregnant?

What the bint hadn’t known, and no one outside the family did, was that a jealous witch had poisoned Dorea when she was carrying her first child. She had lost three children before successfully carrying James to term. 

There was a reason, after all, why the House of Thorne had mysteriously been slaughtered with no evidence left behind.

“We’re leaving,” Henry stated. 

It was a command and she wasn’t going to argue with it. It was his right as her brother to guarantee her safety however he saw fit.

Henry wrapped a protective arm around Haesel’s waist and urged her forward, guiding her rapidly through the rooms and hallways that kept them from the exit. They sped past everyone, ignoring all greetings offered. The glare on Henry’s face had people shuffling out of their way, allowing them passage. Tomorrow, there would be gossip in every drawing room about their speedy departure from The Golden Fleece. 

Being at the center of such tales would normally irritate her, but right now she didn’t care. Haesel had to get out before she did something mental, like stalk the magical signature to try and figure out to whom it belonged. 

The smile on Valerius’s face transformed into a worried frown as they hustled into the Apparition Chamber. His wand slid into his hand and he stared over their shoulders, as if he expected someone to follow them threateningly.

“What happened?” Valerius asked.

“We’re leaving. Now. Take us to the restaurant,” Henry snapped. 

Valerius stared at Henry and nodded acquiescently. “Let me give Haesel the coordinates, and then—”

“No,” Henry interrupted. “Side-Along Apparate both of us as soon as you can.”

Valerius’s gaze snapped to her questioningly, and then his eyes closed to slits. It seemed her uncle had finally realized that her brother’s magic blocked hers from being detected. She would have to use her magic to encase her brother’s to Side-Along Apparate them anywhere; that was not going to happen. Even if she had made the offer, Henry would have forbidden it.

Valerius opened his mouth, but then closed it again without asking them questions. “Let’s go then. The reservations won’t wait forever.” 

That was a lie. No one would dare give away the table of Valerius Vaisey, Henry Potter, and Haesel Potter to anyone else. 

Valerius clapped a firm hand on each of their shoulders, wand still pointed unerringly at the entryway to the chamber, and said, “You’ll love it. I’ve heard great reviews.”

Haesel sighed, relief settling in. She really needed to put her head in order, and that wasn’t going to happen as long as she was anywhere near the tempting magic. “Oh? Where are we going?”

Valerius covered them in his magic and said, “The Pied Piper.”


	5. Part the Fifth

Haesel relaxed when they reappeared in a darkened foyer with several Apparition runic circles carved into the ebony floor. The floorboards gleamed as if they had just been waxed and polished moments ago; that was a sign of industrious house-elves, something she appreciated. 

“Will you be all right now?” Henry asked.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Haesel as Henry withdrew his magic. 

The freedom of her magical senses sent a rush to her head, making her dizzy for a moment. She wasn’t going to complain about it, though. Henry’s magic hovered close by, ready to shelter hers again if she showed the slightest sign of needing his protection.

“Can I help with anything?” Valerius asked solicitously.

Haesel shook her head. “Thank you, Uncle Valerius, but I’m well enough now.”

_ Thank Morgana, _ the distance helped. 

She couldn’t feel the mystery wizard anymore. The silent pleading for her attention had vanished when they did. For the moment, at least, she felt free of its beguiling ways. Now that Haesel wasn’t in his immediate proximity, she realized precisely how intense the urge was to find him. It almost felt like she had broken free of an Imperius Curse that her own magic had placed on her. 

Why did she feel so drawn to a wizard she had never met? There was a nagging thought in the back of her head that said his magic was entirely too familiar. How could that be?

“This coming of age thing is messing with my head,” Haesel sighed. 

She had better control of her magic than this; she knew she did. Yet, it had reacted like an unruly child, begging him to notice her. She might as well just wave her arms and scream, “Pick me! Pick me!” at the top of her lungs.

It almost reminded her of old tales of predestined soul-deep bonds.

“Did someone hurt you with his magic?” inquired Henry, bent over so that no one else would be able to hear him.

“No. It’s not that. It’s—I’ll explain later. I promise. A proper explanation would take too long right now,” Haesel said, wanting to twine one of her curls around her index finger. Unfortunately, she was still in public and couldn’t indulge in the fidget. 

“Very well,” Henry agreed, though he kept his arm about her waist.

“Are we ready, then?” Valerius asked, standing a polite couple of steps away, allowing them their privacy to speak.

“Yes, of course. I apologize for the delay, Uncle Valerius. Dinner sounds fabulous. Now, tell me all about the restaurant that was brilliant enough to catch your illustrious attention,” Haesel said. 

So far, she could understand the appeal. It was definitely upper-class, but wasn’t overly gaudy.

“Well, it’s a newly opened place in Muggle London. Of course, it only serves purebloods.”

“Of course,” Henry agreed solemnly, lips twitching with amusement as they walked toward a massive desk at the front of the foyer.

“It’s near King’s Cross. Wouldn’t do to have it somewhere us purebloods have never heard of, now would it?” Valerius continued speaking without allowing them a chance to answer. “I had planned to take us to King’s Cross and then stroll over, let us have a spot of Muggle-watching. However, with  _ everything, _ Apparating seemed like the best idea.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Haesel said. 

Haesel was quite grateful that Uncle Valerius had brought them straight to the restaurant. She had been in Muggle London more than once and it was almost unbearably crowded. People brushed up against each other in the street all the time. At least people in wizardom, wizards especially, knew better than to casually touch a woman on the street—particularly when they weren’t even related. 

Dealing with something like that tonight would have pushed Haesel over the edge. Her magic likely would have violently thrown the Muggles away from her. After the way  _ his magic _ had felt against her own (firm and trustworthy), their blankness—lack of magic—would have felt downright filthy.

The maitre d’s desk was immense. It was as tall as Haesel herself, but the man standing behind it was even taller. He had to be at least seven feet tall and was painfully thin.

“Good evening Lady Haesel, Master Vaisey, Master Potter. Your table is ready. If you will follow me, please.” 

He stepped out from behind the desk, satin black robes swirling around him. Haesel wondered if he might possibly be a vampire. If so, he was ancient. Humans rarely grew that tall these days. Then again, he could also be part High Elf or Fae. Not that it mattered, of course.

There was a threshold, and then the wood flooring became stone of some kind. Haesel wasn’t sure if it was onyx, obsidian, or another type that had been charmed to look like either of those. She wasn’t a great lover of gems, and thus hadn’t spent as much time memorizing each individual type as most pureblood women did. 

She and Henry had constantly snuck away from their tutors to play Quidditch, visit the kitchens for a snack, or craft a grand prank to play on their cousins. To her father’s great joy and Uncle Sirius’s immense annoyance, she and Henry were still leading on the prank scoreboard over all their cousins.

They entered a cavernous room that gave the illusion of being intimate. She was sure the ingenious use of lighting and shadows were the cause. Crystal sculptures Levitated in the air, one over each table. The insides were a misty pewter, reminding her of a failed Patronus Charm. The glowing, silver fog illuminated the room in patches. They were led to a table in the exact center of the room—no surprise there. The sculpture over it was a gryphon rampant, much to her private amusement. Perhaps the majority were based on pureblood crests?

An eerie, haunting flute melody resounded through the room, echoing off the ceiling and making itself sound even darker. 

Haesel shook her head when she realized she was focusing on it too closely. She had already allowed magic to mesmerize her today; she would not grant this magical flute music the same power over her. Losing control again would be unacceptable.

“Princess,” Henry said teasingly as he pulled out her chair.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Haesel said as she sat and let him scoot her closer to the table. 

The silver was set for twelve courses; she could only pray Uncle Valerius didn’t want to stay for that many. She had sought an adventure that morning and got more than expected. Now all she wanted was to lie on her bed and try to sort out the feelings roused within her.

“You’re welcome.”

Once they were all seated, the maître d’ indicated gems embedded in the tabletop. “All you need to do is tap your wand against the gems and request whatever you desire. It will be served instantaneously. Please enjoy your meal, my lady, masters.” He bowed and left.

Haesel drew her wand—holly and phoenix feather—and then tapped it against the gem closest to her. She knew her brother and uncle would wait until she had ordered, so that they were not all defenseless at the same time. 

“Mermaid tears soup,” she stated clearly. 

She returned her wand to its bracelet-holster just as a bowl appeared before her. After retrieving the correct spoon, she tried it; it was scrumptious. 

“Uncle Valerius, you’ll have to bring us here again. You can count this place a success,” Haesel declared after swallowing,

Valerius chuckled. “When have I ever taken you somewhere that served bad food?”

“Does that time you decided to try your hand at cooking count?” Haesel teased mercilessly as Henry ordered grilled truffles. 

He was bloody well addicted to the things. Haesel couldn’t stand them.

Valerius huffed, affronted. “And how long do you plan to hold that over my head, Haesel?”

“Forever, of course,” she replied with a smirk. 

Groaning, Valerius hung his head. “Someone has been spending too much time with her godfather.”

“Aww, don’t worry. You’re still my favorite uncle in this restaurant,” Haesel assured him with a wide smile. 

She adored teasing Uncle Valerius and Uncle Sirius. The two men were constantly competing to determine which of them was the best uncle ever. She and Henry had taken shameless advantage of that on occasion. However, the countless gifts and outings had nothing to do with her love for each man. If they had been poor and never taken her on holiday, she still would have cherished them.

“I’m your only uncle in the restaurant,” Valerius sighed before promptly ordering a French dish that looked entirely too fussy.

There were several minutes of silence as they focused on eating instead of talking. The croissants were delicious, the braised lamb delectable, and the treacle tarts divine. Haesel ate more of them than she should have, but she refused to feel guilty about it. A few tarts were not going to ruin the fit of her disgustingly expensive gala gown. 

“So, how are you handling the pressure?” Valerius asked once they had cups of tea.

“Not too badly.” 

That was a safe answer. Safe was good right now. Too much was changing all at once, and she didn’t like it. Before this afternoon, she would have told him it wasn’t a problem. 

“Lady Potter and your mum just want the best for you. I know that doesn’t excuse all the fighting, but it’s the truth. Lady Potter never had a daughter, so this is the first time she’s been able to plan a coming of age gala,” Valerius said.

Haesel almost winced at the reminder that her father should have had two older sisters and an older brother. During the past few months, with all the mayhem, she had never once thought that might be why Grandmother Dorea kept pushing and proffering ideas. It made complete sense; Haesel felt stupid for missing it. What pureblood witch didn’t dream of the perfect debut for her own daughter? Morgana knew Haesel had done so more than once. And with Haesel being who she was, the pressure on her mother and grandmother must be horrific. 

Her coming of age gala was to be the most prestigious event of the season—perhaps the decade. It wouldn’t do for the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter to fail at such a task.

“I know. I just don’t like seeing them at odds with each other. I hate it when the family fights,” she whispered, pangs in her chest. 

“If it lasts much longer, I reckon Charlus or James will set it to rights. They can’t enjoy the bickering between their wives either. Discord in a usually harmonious household jangles the nerves. It might even start wreaking havoc with the family magics,” Valerius said as if from personal experience. 

“It would be brilliant if they stopped,” Henry interjected, before sipping his tea. 

His gaze had rarely left Haesel the whole time they had been eating dinner. He was still watchful and she truly appreciated it. Haesel had managed to push most thoughts of the mystery wizard from her mind during dinner, but they were steadily resurfacing now that her stomach was satisfied.

Then, like déjà vu, she felt familiar magic; it had come in the wake of one of the worst experiences of her life. 

At fourteen she had been, much to her annoyance, Heir Viktor Krum’s hostage in the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Krum had attempted to hug her after removing her from the Black Lake in order to ‘varm her up.’ Something about that particular request had been jarring. She had been repulsed by his offer, and then her magic had reached for something that she could never quite touch or understand.

Krum had relentlessly pursued her following that cold February morning, seeming to think his status as an International Quidditch Star meant that she should accept his very premature offer of courtship. He had sent several gifts, and was seen threatening more than one wizard to stay away from her.

It had all come to a head shortly after her fifteenth birthday. 

Haesel had been shopping with her family in Diagon Alley, unaware Krum was even in the country, when a rough hand suddenly grabbed hold of her and dragged her into Knockturn Alley. Another hand quickly covered her mouth. 

“You vill bond vith me, for I am vanting to keep you,” Krum had purred in her ear.

Haesel’s magic had Blasted him right through the front window of a shop. She had stumbled forward wildly, colliding with her father, and then breathed a sigh of relief when he returned her to Potter Manor so she would be within the safety of the family wards. 

But that night as Haesel huddled beneath her bedding, reliving the near-abduction, the tiniest hint of magic had met her own. She had felt comforted, and whatever nightmares might have been in her future for the evening were banished. 

She had not slept so well since.

The memory niggled at her, but Haesel wasn’t quite sure why. Why now? Why that memory? She did her best to not dwell on it, because the nightmares were awful when her mind spun what-ifs.

The answer came rapidly. That hint of magic Haesel had been blessed by years ago was coming toward her again—in massive quantities. This time it wouldn’t be a raindrop; it was a tidal wave. Whatever the change was, likely distance, she felt it most keenly. 

Haesel swallowed roughly and leapt to her feet, sending her chair skidding backwards. 

_ Impossible! _

Footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the silence that followed the sound of her chair crashing against the stone flooring.

“Haesel, what’s wrong?” Henry demanded. 

He shoved his chair away from the table with alacrity and rushed to her side, Uncle Valerius right behind him.

How had Haesel not realized it earlier?

Slowly, torturously slowly, she turned to face the entrance to the dining room. Thaddeus Nott—irrelevant. Marius Avery—immaterial. Reginald Davies—inconsequential.

And him.

_ Him. _

His blue eyes snapped to her face the second he passed the threshold. They flared with acknowledgement, as if he had just read her mind and agreed with the conclusion it had reached—the improbable, impossible conclusion. Then his magic was locked down so tightly she couldn’t feel it at all.

“Haesel, tell me what’s wrong this instant!” Henry demanded, his wand in one hand and his eyes darting around the room. 

“We have to leave. Now. Right now, Henry,” Haesel gasped. 

She felt faint. Why must she realize this now, in public? For once, why couldn’t she make such a personal connection in private, where she would be free to freak out without anyone the wiser?

He was . . . he was . . .

“Okay. Okay. Let’s go.” 

Henry forwent propriety once again and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, using his magic to cover hers as well as he could with how far hers was spread out. 

“Thank you for dinner, Uncle Valerius. Sorry to run.”

“Go,” Valerius insisted, face taut with worry as he watched Haesel. 

Then she and Henry were practically sprinting through the room. Her plaits almost came loose. Her tunic fluttered a little higher than she was comfortable with, but nothing could have gotten her to stop and smooth it back down. 

Haesel’s body and magic rejoiced with each step she took toward  _ him. _ Haesel knew that if she didn’t escape his reach within the next minute, she wouldn’t want to at all. She would desire nothing more than to wallow in his magic.

The Heirs he was accompanying hastily stepped aside so she and Henry would have unfettered access to the exit. Their visages were masks of concern as they observed her and her brother. Haesel could only imagine how pale she must look. Surely Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington—the Gryffindor ghost—currently had more color than she did.

Right when she pulled level with  _ Lord Charles Prewett, _ their eyes met. Time seemed to halt completely, as if it moved at a different rate than time outside their magical bubble did. The gossip was wrong. It was so, so wrong. He wasn’t a Fire Mage. Charles Prewett—the deep auburn hair and sky-blue eyes unmistakable—was a Chaos Mage.

The mark on the skin over her hipbone burned.

For an irrational moment she thought she would rise on her tiptoes and press her lips against his, gifting him with her maiden’s kiss. It would seal her fate as his betrothed. It would destroy all need for a coming of age gala. It would break her mother and grandmother’s hearts, and enrage her father at this point. Days before the much-advertised event was not an appropriate time to find her future. 

And yet . . .  _ and yet _ . . . somehow, someway, Haesel just had.

Charles’s lips curled in a devious and delighted smile. They caressed a single word, “Soon.” 

The breath whooshed from her lungs as Henry hauled her into the foyer of the restaurant. 

Henry’s hands cupped her cheeks, grip rough as he tried to get her to focus on him, and said, “Haesel, Apparate us back to Potter Manor immediately.” 

He put the weight of the family magic behind his order.

Obeying him was a bitter prospect, but Haesel did as he demanded of her. Her magic cried its denial as she spun on her heel and yanked them through space. They landed in the manor, not far from the informal dining room. 

The clinking of glasses ceased, and then her father was standing in the doorway, saying, “Haesel, you’re back! They’ve finally reached an agreement. Your first waltz—” 

James fell silent, and she couldn’t imagine what she must look like for her father to get that tick in his jaw.

“Just give it to Uncle Valerius!” Haesel cried, wincing at the hysterical edge to her voice. 

She ripped herself away from her brother and raced down the hallway and up the stairs, ignoring all the voices that called after her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t—this couldn’t be real!

Haesel opened her bedroom door and then slammed it behind her, activating the wards that would keep everyone—even the Lord of the House himself—from intruding on her privacy. Pausing only to kick off her boots, Haesel threw herself on her bed and then promptly burst into tears.

It was his fault. All these years, it was Charles’s fault.

He had given her one sliver of magic on that day and she had  _ known _ that nothing could harm her. She had  _ known _ that she was cherished. It had been one moment and never again. As the years passed, she had started to wonder if it had been her imagination. Now, she knew it was real.

Haesel punched her mattress and wept bitterly. “Why, Charles?  _ Why? _ ” 

Even as she railed, she knew the answer to her question. Until her birthday in a few days, she was still underage. His honor as Lord Prewett would never allow him to take advantage of that. Her magical upheaval must have been monumental following the near-kidnapping for him to have even sent the sliver he did.

And due to the mark on her hip, her family had announced she was unavailable for betrothal contracts before she even started Hogwarts.

All this time, the distance was  _ her fault. _

Haesel hiccup-sobbed herself to sleep, right into a night terror.


	6. Parth the Sixth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with a night terror, during which Haesel is manhandled against her will. You can skip this by starting at: "Mistress?" a voice squeaked through the door.

Haesel whimpered as Krum’s face loomed over her. His features were twisted in a mask of hatred and desire. 

“You’re mine. You vere alvays meant to be mine,” he said, voice grating along her nerves. 

“No,” Haesel muttered as she shook her head. That wasn’t true. She wasn’t his, had never been his.

Krum’s hands grabbed her shoulders so tightly that she could feel bruises forming already. It was ruthless, unlike the tenderness to which she was accustomed. He shook her like a rag doll, making her neck ache and her hair fall from its pins. 

“Ve’re meant to be together, Haesel. Vhy can’t you see that?” 

“We’re not!” she protested, terrified when her magic wouldn’t respond. 

He was  _ hurting _ her!

Krum thrust a hand into her hair and fisted it, knotting it around his hand and pulling until her scalp burned. Spittle flecked his lips as he snapped, “You’ve let his magic touch yours, haffn’t you? You’ve let him feel it? Vhy? Only I haff the right to touch it. Ve are engaged, Haesel!”

“We are not!” she moaned and clawed at him. 

Why was he hurting her? Why couldn’t she access her magic? Why weren’t Grandfather and Dad and Henry appearing to save her? 

“It’s his right!” spat Haesel. 

Given the mark on her hip and him being a Chaos Mage, Charles Prewett had the  _ only right _ to touch her magic intimately.

“It’s  _ my _ right.” 

A yelp escaped her as he yanked, forcing her neck to crane at an awkward angle. 

“Vhy do you let him touch you, Haesel? Vhy do you giff in to his dark desires? Vhy do you surrender to that lying, deceitful philanderer?”

“He’s not—not—” 

Why did she let Charles’s magic touch her? She wanted his touch. He had never abused that privilege, had never sought to take from her.

“Lord Bloody Prewett deigns to return to England and you pant after him like Crup in heat. Vhere’s he been all your life? Off shagging anyvone, anyvhere, I’ll bet. How many ladies do you think he’s bedded? I bet he can’t effen remember the number. I von’t let you join their ranks, Haesel. I von’t,” Krum growled in her ear.

Haesel felt like she was going to throw up. 

“Liar!” she shrieked. 

Charles wouldn’t have dared to bed anyone. He was a  _ Chaos Mage; _ that meant he would have a matching mark on his hip-bone: The Mark of Merlin.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Krum spat. 

He carded a hand through her hair in a mockery of tenderness. Haesel turned her head to bite his hand, but he yanked it away before she could. 

“You’re lying!” Haesel yelled, clinging to that one truth. 

Charles would never, ever,  _ ever _ bed any witch but her. Their joint magic was meant to bring Merlin back into the world. Whatever Charles had done during his travels, romance hadn’t played a part in it.

“Of course, the magnificent Lord Prewett is going to be accustomed to vomen vho know how to serffice him. You don’t. I figure it vill take him less than a year to get bored vith you. And then vhat vill you be left vith?” Krum asked mocking, his voice a slow stab at her heart.

“That won’t happen!” Haesel screamed at him. 

She kicked him so hard her foot ached.

Krum smirked at her in a patronizing manner, as if she were a young child who knew nothing of the world, and said, “Yes, it vill. But I vould neffer do that to you, Haesel. I vould be gentle. I vould forsake all others for you, and I vould certainly neffer tire of you. I vill luff you foreffer, Haesel. Nothing vill change that.”

Haesel struggled, trying to escape the dark feeling of his presence. He was tainted—wrong. This wasn’t right! She had an ICW Ratified Restraining Order; Krum couldn’t enter a country if she was in it!

How had this happened?

Krum’s hold tightened the more she fought against it. He grit his teeth and said, “If you bond vith him, vhat do you think he’ll do vhen he’s bored vith you, vhen he’s  _ done _ ? He’s been traffeling for years, Haesel. You can’t deny that. People like him lose interest quickly. Seducing you and making you  _ luff him _ is nothing more than a passing fancy of his, a game. How fast could he make you vant him? Much too fast, it seems.”

“I will never choose you!” Haesel screamed. 

She threw her head back, hoping to break his nose. Her bid for freedom failed, resulting in nothing more than a wave of pain that almost made her faint. Haesel stilled, loose strands of hair falling forward to block her eyes. 

His visage was macabre, as if a demon had possessed him, as he snarled, “I luff you! Vhy von’t you accept that? Vhy? I luff you more than he effer could, than he effer vill. Choose me!”

He shook her again, making her bite her tongue. Thankfully, it didn’t start bleeding.

Haesel stared at him with all the hatred in her soul and sneered, “If you really  _ loved me, _ I’d have your heart in my chest. And I would sacrifice it in a ritual to get it out of me! I’ve made my choice, Krum. I chose him.”

“Then change it!”

“I can’t!” 

To fail Mother Magic in such a way, to fail at bringing Merlin back into the world when he would obviously be needed. . . . Nothing would change her mind. Her chest throbbed, her heart beating so rapidly that she wondered if it would burst.

Krum’s voice was deceptively soft as he breathed against her ear, “You mean you von’t.” 

“I won’t,” Haesel agreed. 

Black spots danced before her eyes. The last time she had been this terrified, Charles’s magic had come for her. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Charles would come. Her magic might not be able to fight for some reason, but nothing could silence it.

Haesel’s magic screamed his name so loudly that she felt it hum in her bones,  _ Charles! _

“Vhat’s so special about him? Is it because he’s already a lord? Is it because he knows how to please women? Is that vhat you vant?” 

Krum’s voice was toneless now, which frightened her more than the earlier outward showing of anger. He was never quiet when raging. 

She glared and refused to answer. 

“Is it because he’s vealthy? Are you that shallow now, Haesel? Has he brought you so low?” 

When she didn’t speak, he fisted her hair and stretched her neck back even more and snarled, “Answer me!”

Haesel’s neck trembled from the strain. Would it break soon? Was Krum going to snap her neck? For all her struggling, she could not get free. He was too tall and too strong. Was she going to die without ever getting to bond with her lord?

“No.” 

_ Charles! _

“Is it his looks, then? Does his handsome face set your heart fluttering? Does he make you burn vith longing, Haesel? Do you ache for him to complete you, to fill you vith his heirs?” he asked, lips curled in a vindictive leer.

It wasn’t like that! Krum made their destined bond sound like something filthy and base, instead of the enormous blessing it would be. How dare he?

Haesel snarled, “It’s not like that! Let me go, you piece of—!” 

“So that you can crawl into his bed and giff him vhat’s rightfully mine? I don’t think so, Haesel.” 

She didn’t know how to describe the look on his face, only knowing that it frightened her and made her want to hide where no one could find her.

_ Charles, hurry! _

“Vhy do you refuse to understand that I’m the good guy? I luff you, Haesel. If I let Prewett haff you, he’d ruin you. He’d take efferything you haff to offer and giff you nothing but lies and empty platitudes. He’ll tire of you. And do you know what he’ll do then, Haesel? Do you?” 

Krum’s left hand grabbed her face, bruising her cheeks as he forced her to meet his gaze. Haesel’s teeth cut the inside of her cheek and the taste of copper pooled on her tongue.

“N-no.” 

An insane, victorious light lit his eyes as he whispered, “He’s going to leaff you.”

Those five words pummeled her heart harder than everything else he had said combined. He’s going to leave you.  _ He’s going to leave you. _ His absence these past years was because of her age, not because he wanted to be away from her.

“That’s not true,” she said numbly, pulse racing. 

Krum chuckled. “Oh, but it is. You’re still so naïff, Haesel. I know men like him. He’ll leaff you, probably return to whateffer exotic location catches his attention, and forget that he effer had a vife or children. You’ll be nothing more than a passing memory of a game he von on a brief jaunt back to England.”

“No!” 

She gagged, bile rising in her throat. Charles was the Prewett Lord; he would never do that! He had left his own parents for betraying him. He would never betray his lady-wife in such a way.

“Yes, it’s true. He’ll leaff you vith nothing more than an heir to ensure the surfiffal of his bloodline. And you’ll spend the rest of your life vith the child, a small bit of him, knowing all his vords vere lies. He  _ never _ luffed you.”

Haesel started hyperventilating. She knew it wasn’t true, but the mere thought of Merlin’s father abandoning him scared her witless. She couldn’t imagine what horrific vengeance Mother Magic would wreak for such a betrayal of trust. 

“You’re lying,” she breathed. 

“No, I’m not. You know I’m telling the truth.” 

Krum sounded scarily reasonable now, as if he really believed his own words. He loosened the tight hold on her hair and stroked it as if she were a well-loved pet. 

“But I can saff you from that ineffitable pain, Haesel. I can make efferything better. I can giff you a future full of luff, laughter, fidelity, and as many children as you desire.” 

She opened her mouth to protest; before she could speak, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “All I haff to do is one—simple—thing.”

“W-what?” 

Haesel felt weak. For all her magical strength and power, she couldn’t escape him. Why couldn’t she escape? It didn’t make any sense! How was he suppressing her magic?

Krum’s laughter was haunting as it echoed around them. He stopped laughing just long enough to say, “I’m going to  _ kill _ your precious Lord Prewett.”

_ “No!” _ Haesel screamed as she shot up in bed, hands clawing out at a spectre that wasn’t there—at a nightmare more malevolent than any Krum had ever before inspired. 

“Mistress?” a voice squeaked through the door. 

A knock came again; it must have been what woke her.

Haesel’s chest rose and fell rapidly, straining against her sweat-soaked tunic. Her hair lay tangled in a loose plait and her hands rose to her scalp, which ached. She must have rolled over on it while thrashing about. The bedclothes were all over the place and several of the pillows were on the floor. It looked like a particularly vicious pillow fight had taken place.

“It wasn’t real,” she whispered. 

Krum hadn’t—it wasn’t real. 

The realization sent her into another bout of tears, which she let flow without any attempt at restraint. She wrapped her arms around herself and curled her knees against her chest. The hateful glares and words returned to her, and Haesel barely made it to the edge of the bed in time to be sick. 

“Mistress?” the voice was even more worried.

The taste only reminded her of the acidic bitterness in Krum’s eyes as she continually refuted his demands for her hand. When there was nothing left in her stomach, she cast a cleaning charm on the floor and then a refreshing charm on herself, wanting the taste out of her mouth.

“I-it felt s-so real,” she sobbed. 

Haesel wiped her arm across her eyes, but it did little to stem the flood of tears. She felt so alone. 

_ Where are you? _

It was then that she realized she had forced her magic to encase her in a protective bubble, likely an unconscious shield she had created during the night terror as she fought against Krum’s vitriolic abuse.

She bit her tongue when she noticed she couldn’t feel any magic at all. Not even the family magic was entwined with hers as it always was. She felt abandoned. 

“Mistress! Please lower the wards!”

Haesel focused through her panic and tore the shield apart, which took longer than she would have liked. The second it shattered, she felt it: a well of ferocious power and emotions. 

“Charles.” 

She threw the covers back and clambered off the bed, almost tumbling to the floor as her legs fought to support her. Her fingers spasmed as she clutched the nearest bedpost and waited for her legs to work properly; any delay was dangerous at this point.

She remembered, now, screaming for Charles in the nightmare. Haesel could only imagine how terrified she must have sounded for him to storm Potter Manor to come to her. The feral quality to Charles’s magic informed her that he wasn’t in his right mind. He felt lethal through the wards.

The feel of his magic was steadily darkening, and she wasn’t stupid enough to assume he was above using the Dark Arts when he thought he was protecting her. She couldn’t let it come to that.

Haesel’s whole body shivered and shook as she stumbled toward the bedroom door. She kept a hand on the closest wall, praying it would support her. She fumbled with the doorknob for what felt like ages before it finally turned in her grasp, unlocking her chamber and the wards she had activated. Haesel didn’t even get the door open before her personal house-elf was at her side.

“Mistress, Lord Prewett is being at the wards. He says something awful be happening to Mistress Haesel. He’s very angry,” Lotsy said, wringing her hands.

“I’ll handle it. Don’t wake anyone else.” 

Haesel couldn’t believe he hadn’t set the wards off yet with how much violent, chaotic magic he was putting out. The wards were used to chaotic magic because of her, of course, but his magic had a definite masculinity to it.

Haesel grabbed her Firebolt, opened the window, and leapt out on it. It didn’t take long at all to reach the edge of the wards.

Charles spun to face her. His hair was floating in the air from the strength of his aura, resembling flames. His magic was lashing out wildly and his eyes were an eerie shade of blue. If he had been anyone else, she would have drawn her wand out of reflex. But this was Charles—her Mother Magic Chosen lord—and she trusted that he would never harm her.

“I’m so sorry. I was having a night terror of Krum. My magic wouldn’t answer me. I couldn’t w-wake up,” Haesel whispered, voice hoarse from crying and screaming. Her body still shuddered as if she had been Cruciated. 

His hands opened and closed at his sides as he gruffly said, “Your magic screamed so loud for me that I heard it in Scotland. I thought—Merlin, I thought you were being—I didn’t think I’d make it in time.”

All it had taken was one cry of his name and he had come to her, just as any Potter male would. 

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Haesel whispered. 

Charles shoved his hands behind his back and said, “I’ll always come when you need me. I’d have come if I was still at the Dragon Preserve in Romania.”

Haesel swallowed; it hurt. She took a small step forward. 

“Can I—? I swear that I’ll keep my magic to myself, so I don’t tempt your honor.” She could do it; she could lock it down to respect his desire to respect her age. “May I please have a hug?  _ Please?” _

Charles reached her just as she collapsed, arms curling around her and pressing her safely against his chest. Her hands scrabbled at the back of his robes as she clung to him and buried her magic deep inside herself. 

“I’ve waited seven years to hold you in my arms,” Charles confessed, magic just as suppressed as hers.

“Was it worth the wait?” she asked. 

Haesel’s cheek was against his chest; his heart had an odd rhythm. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he was holding onto it by sheer force of will, refusing to release it until her seventeenth birthday.

“Every second.”

Eyes still wet with tears, Haesel leaned up and kissed his cheek. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, before smiling and repeating what he had told her at The Pied Piper. “Soon.”

Charles’s eyes were wide as he lifted a hand to his cheek and whispered the promise of, “Soon.”

And then she mounted her broom and flew back to her room.


	7. Part the Seventh

“Like this,” Haesel whispered, remembering how Charles’s hands had been positioned on her body when he hugged her. Haesel stood before the mirror in her nightgown, its white lace and close cut flattering her figure. Her small hands pressed against her waist, twisted around at an awkward angle. For an irrational moment, she had hoped he wouldn’t release her.

“So warm,” Haesel murmured, hands pressing more firmly against her ribs. It felt different, because his hands were at least twice as large as her own, but it still felt intrinsically right.

That first night and day after her discovery of their connection had been awful. She had barely slept; what little sleep she had gained was riddled with nightmares of Krum. She had ordered Lotsy to wake her whenever a nightmare happened. Haesel had already pressed on Charles’s boundaries enough, asking for the hug. She could wait till her birthday before asking for more. 

Her nerves were jittery all the next day, growing worse as evening approached. The fragile skin under her eyes had grown dark and bruised. She had refused to leave her room, regardless of her family’s demands and requests. The food Lotsy brought was picked at unenthusiastically. 

She lay in her bed the second night, staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing faster than a Firebolt. 

Just when Haesel thought she couldn’t handle another second of the renewed night terrors, a crystal clear memory of how Charles’s magic had come to her—that desperate night when she was fifteen—soothed her. 

If she pretended hard enough, she could almost convince herself his magic was really with her again. It had come for her in the twilight hours, whispering promises that she couldn’t quite hear. The words didn’t matter, though, because the intent in his magic was blatant; it engulfed her in a protective cloud.

The endless, graphic series of ‘What Might Have Been’ died for the night as she fantasized his magic’s presence. Charles had willingly returned the shield to her, the magic shield that meant true safety from all threats. He had first offered it to her without her requesting it, proving that he was a caring and honorable wizard. 

The fantasy dispelled when Haesel awoke. 

Haesel spent another day in her chambers. 

Lotsy brought her every copy of  _ the Daily Prophet _ that mentioned him, so she could learn more about him. He clearly already knew a lot about her. Charles had apparently apprenticed under the famous Newt Scamander and was an acknowledged Magizoologist worldwide. There was even an advertisement saying his book  _ The Dragon Compendium _ would be released in October.

She had been soaking in her bathtub the third evening, wishing her birthday would arrive sooner. Haesel was impatient now. She might not know the small things, like Charles’s favorite Quidditch team or preferred foods, but she knew the things that actually mattered. 

She had scoured foreign newspapers after finishing with  _ the Daily Prophet. _ His charitable work, his studies, his courage—it was all there to see between the lines. Few men measured up to the example her father and grandfather set, but Charles had already proven himself their equal in several ways. 

“It was real,” she whispered dazedly.

Haesel’s fingers folded inward, wrinkling the nightgown. She could still feel the heat of his palms, the firm yet gentle grip of his hands, as if he had imprinted their texture into her skin in the exact spot he had placed them. He had been very careful to not set his hands too low on her hips or too high on her waist. She appreciated the courtesy. Some men would have  _ accidentally _ attempted to touch. 

Charles was different—honorable—something she greatly valued, being a Potter maiden.

“Some wizard’s finally got your fancy, has he? About time some bloke caught your eye,” her mirror clucked. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being discerning,” Haesel huffed. 

Her mirror was often much too opinionated on the topic of relationships. If the mirror were a person, it would be peering down its nose at her. 

“So you’ve told me before. Well, what’s he like then? Don’t keep the good news all to yourself.”

Haesel searched her mind for appropriate adjectives, but they didn’t come as easily as one might expect. Charles was so . . .  _ much, _ he was hard to describe. 

“He’s honorable, intelligent, powerful—”

The mirror made a yawning sound and said, “Boring! That bit is obvious, isn’t it? If he weren’t he wouldn’t be worthy of a Potter maiden. Tell me how he looks! I bet he’s fit, isn’t he? Strong? Handsome? Someone who will have no trouble getting your blood pumping, right? You, dear girl, need some of that in your life. I expect he’ll get lovely babies off you, too.”

Haesel spluttered and pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. Was her mirror suggesting that—that— _ that _ ?

“Of course, the nightgown you’re wearing might tempt him more than a negligee on your bonding night. You look very, very pure, my dear. And powerful wizards seem to enjoy that thing quite a lot.”

Haesel crossed her arms over her chest, as if Charles were in her dressing room and staring at her. They fell back to her sides moments later. She inhaled deeply and pointed one finger at the mirror in a threatening gesture. 

“This nightgown is perfectly modest. And, and— He doesn’t think of me like that. He’s a gentleman!” Haesel snapped, temper riled. 

The mirror chortled. “My dear, you say that as if you believe it.”

She stamped her foot and said, “I do!” 

“Well, your father’s a gentleman too. Are you saying he never had designs on your mother? Just where do you think you came from, my dear?” the mirror teased. 

Haesel’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. She refused to let her mind go there, but she couldn’t discount the mirror’s point. Her father  _ was _ a gentleman, and she and Henry  _ did _ exist. She flushed scarlet.

“Your naivety is adorable, my dear, but you need to be realistic too. Bonding means babies, and babies don’t grow in cauldrons.”

She contemplated Blasting the mirror to pieces, but knew it wouldn’t work. All sentient magical items were protected by the family magic. 

“I’m not an idiot! I know bonding leads to babies. And of course babies don’t grow in cauldrons! And who said anything about bonding?” she snapped defensively.

The mirror’s voice was surprisingly solemn as it said, “My dear, in all the years that I’ve known you, you’ve never once showed  _ real _ interest in a wizard. Tonight you’re standing before me in your nightgown, touching your waist and babbling about how warm and safe you feel. Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t already chosen your future lord and husband?”

She had made the decision years ago—the future Mother Magic wanted for her. 

Haesel leaned back against a rack of day dresses and tried to picture her future. Where would she be a year from now? Two? Five? Ten? One hundred? Each image that came to her mind revolved around her and Charles. And in each one he was touching her in some way. 

Haesel’s hands returned to her waist, and then slid downward to cover her womb. She could not picture Merlin being reborn without Charles as his father. The briefest thought of any other wizard claiming her body sent her magic into a vicious spike, worse than the time Krum had grabbed her from Diagon Alley.

It seemed she had chosen, after all.

Mother Magic’s Will—Charles.

“Well, my dear. Which is it?”

For the first time, Haesel allowed the words to spill from her lips outside of nightmares, “I’ve chosen. You’re right. I’ve already chosen.”

“That’s what I thought. And if you know that, consciously or not, then your magic does. If your magic does, then his magic does. And if his magic does, then he does, my dear.”

That made all too much sense for Haesel’s settling realization.

“And when a wizard knows a maiden has chosen him as her lord—gentleman or not—every fiber of his being will be desperate to claim her as his own.”

Haesel had a vague idea of what being physically intimate involved. Her mother had spoken to her when she was fourteen years old and phrased it delicately. She knew that she and her future husband would share the same bed and that he would ‘worship her.’ She knew that her husband would be gentle and loving with her; Mum had promised.

And Haesel would never forget how Mum had said, “Only your lord-husband may worship you. Don’t even let other wizards close to you.” 

(Her father had walked in at this part and said, “ _ Cruciate _ anyone who tries. I’ll make sure you don’t go to Azkaban.”)

Haesel licked her dry lips, hands clasped over her womb. She swallowed and took a deep breath. “If—if it’s Charles, I could trust him not to hurt me—like Mum said. If it’s Charles . . . bearing his children would be—creating children would be all right.” 

She pictured a little boy with curly black hair and Charles’s enchanting eyes. She blushed again and ducked her head, a portion of ebony hair falling forward to shield her face. 

“But only— _ only _ if it’s Charles.”

Before the mirror could reply, Haesel snatched a hooded red-velvet cloak off a nearby rack and spun it about her shoulders. She strode out of her bedchamber and into the hallway. She owed her brother an explanation now, while the truth of such an important realization was still fresh in her mind.

Haesel only knocked once on his door before pushing it open and striding inside, the cloak held shut by her trembling hands.

Henry looked up from where he sat on the sofa before the roaring fireplace. The summer nights had been unseasonably chilly this past week. His question sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” 

“Yes,” Haesel whispered, before closing the distance between them. 

She dropped onto the sofa beside him and snuggled against his side, relishing the weight of his arm as it surrounded her. A hand hooked under her chin and tilted her head back until their gazes met. A lock of hair obscured her vision, and Henry tenderly tucked it behind her ear. 

“You said ‘His magic.’ Whose magic were you talking about, and what did it do to you? Why did it bother you so much? I’ve never seen you panic like that in public before,” Henry inquired, before placing a reassuring kiss on her brow.

If Haesel hadn’t already given her word to her brother, she wouldn’t have mentioned Charles at all. He felt like a secret, the kind that could change lives. 

“His name is Charles,” she confessed, as if offering up the given name of a Djinn and three wishes to her brother.

“Charles? He bid you to call him ‘Charles’?” His voice squeaked the barest bit as he stared at her in shock. 

“We haven’t been formally introduced,” she admitted. She briefly considered mentioning no one else had been around to offer a formal introduction, but she knew how well her brother would take that—not at all. Haesel felt her earlier blush return with a vengeance. 

“All right.”

“He’s a Magizoologist!” she blurted out, when the silence lengthened.

Henry stilled; not even his chest moved, as if his very real need to breathe had mysteriously vanished. 

“A Magizoologist?”

“Yes, a Magizoologist.”

Henry’s jaw clenched dangerously as he said, “Lord Prewett is a Magizoologist. His name also happens to be Charles. Haesel, are you suggesting that Lord Prewett met with you in secret?”

“No?” 

“No? No, you aren’t referring to Lord Prewett, or no, he didn’t meet you in secret?” asked Henry.

_ “I _ met  _ him _ in not-secret, thank you very much. He was outside the wards. I was perfectly safe, Henry.” 

Haesel conveniently didn’t mention that she had left the wards to hug him, and cocked an eyebrow in challenge. 

“Merlin, Haesel, that’s not much better. What’s he like? Is he a total git like Lord Shafiq?” Henry asked, before glancing around swiftly, as if worried their mother would appear and tell him to be polite.

Haesel lifted a hand and pretended to hold a monocle to her left eye, before drawling, “Lord Potter, are you quite sure your granddaughter won’t be fostered? It’s completely against tradition!”

“Why, I shall just give away all the family secrets to you, shall I? Would that please your lordship?” Henry said in a brilliant imitation of Grandfather Charlus’s voice.

They erupted into laughter, shoulders and arms bumping together as they shook with mirth. 

“Charles is not like that,” she gasped. Haesel snickered a few more times before adding, “He’s very caring.”

Henry glanced down at her and said, “Rumor has it that Lord Prewett doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Snorting, Haesel shook her head. “That’s a cruel thing to say. He won’t be twenty-five for a few months yet. He’s terribly attractive, though.”

“Gross!” Henry teased. 

“Oh hush, you!” Haesel said as she swatted his shoulder.

“Right, well, I’m sure you’ll get an official introduction to his lordship soon enough.” 

Haesel grimaced. She could already hear the clamor she would cause by accepting Lord Prewett’s suit—on the very day she came of age. That was a media nightmare that she wasn’t anticipating in the least.

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered. 

“His magic,” Henry said leadingly as he nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.

“Morgana, Henry, it’s intoxicating. It calls to me; it begs for my attention all the time. He’s so powerful and honorable. I’ve never felt anything like it before,” she breathed reverently. 

Haesel closed her eyes and shuddered, only aware her brother could feel it when he tightened his grip on her. None of the other wizards she had met had been this appealing on more than a superficial level. None had demanded her whole being and offered the same in return.

Her magic had finally stopped searching. It had no need to now. The goal of the quest had been achieved; what was lost had been found.

They sat in silence for several minutes before Henry shattered it with, “So it’s finally happened—you found him.”

Haesel laid her head on his chest and confessed, “Yes. I did. It was terrifying, Henry. I think I could let his magic consume me in a rush of Fiendfyre and I wouldn’t even try to escape. It’s dangerous, oh so very dangerous, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be used to protect as well.”

Henry swallowed loudly. “That’s . . .”

She tucked her head under her brother’s chin and allowed herself to ponder something she hadn’t understood until this afternoon. “But—I think it’s the same for him. I think he’s just as drawn to me, that he would let my magic drown him without trying to breathe. ”

“How can I keep you safe from something like that?” Henry asked, hands shaking.

Haesel kissed his chest, right over his heart, and then pulled back so she could look him dead in the eyes. 

“You can’t.”

“You’ve chosen him, haven’t you? This Charles the Magizoologist, Charles of no formal introduction, Charles of powerful and honorable magic—he’s going to be my brother-in-law. You’ve chosen Lord Prewett?” asked Henry, a knowing look on his face. 

“He’s a Chaos Mage, Henry,” she whispered.

Henry inhaled so fast he burst into a coughing fit, wheezing out, “You’re sure?”

“Without a doubt.” 

Haesel remembered the burning in her Merlin Mark in The Pied Piper. Mother Magic had foreordained the wizard that would stand at her side and be her lord. She could not begrudge the choice. Charles was a great man.

Haesel opened her mouth and claimed through a smirk,  _ “He’s mine.” _


	8. Part the Eighth

When Haesel awoke the next morning, she felt tired but better. Everyone at the breakfast table fell silent when she strolled into the room as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t spent the past few days hiding behind the most complex wards in the manor. 

“Are you feeling better, darling?” Isadore asked, eyes full of worry.

“Lotsy said you barely ate a thing,” Dorea said.

James calmly buttered a scone and asked, “Do I need to kill someone for you? I’ve no plans until your gala tomorrow, so I have plenty of room to quill in a murder on my schedule.”

“Honor Duel sounds so much nicer than ‘murder,’ James. It’s also much easier to explain to the Aurors,” Isadore said.

“Isadore’s right. The Aurors are much more amenable to Honor Duel,” Charlus agreed. 

Haesel felt awful for worrying her family to this degree. They must have been imagining her reaction was in response to  _ horrible _ things. It had been so kind of Henry to not berate her the night before when she spoke with him. Her parents and grandparents had likely interrogated him repeatedly over the past few days, trying to figure out what happened. Henry hadn’t even known why she was so distraught.

“Valerius has been Fire-calling five times a day to check-in. He hadn’t the faintest idea what upset you so much; he’s quite worried, darling,” Isadore informed her.

This coming year at Hogwarts would be the first year Haesel attended without her Uncle Valerius. He had watched over her since her Sorting, even though they were in different Houses. She couldn’t even guess at how many people he had sent to the hospital wing protecting her.

“I’m fine,” Haesel said.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, young lady,” Charlus said; his usually warm and smiling face was stern and harsh.

“I’m not! I swear I’m not! Something happened that reminded me of Krum, and—”

Isadore gasped. “Not that horrible boy! You had finally almost stopped having nightmares about it!”

Ruefully, Haesel removed the glamour charm under her eyes. Her father went for his wand, and her grandfather turned his fork so he could use it as a weapon. 

“It was bad, but I’m okay now. Tired, but okay,” she insisted. 

Haesel shuddered, thoughts flitting to and away from the night terror that had felt so real she had called Charles with her magic. 

“Why don’t you go lay down after breakfast, darling? You don’t have to do anything all day. I’ll let Lagnok know you can have a Dreamless Sleep Potion,” James suggested. 

“That sounds—”

Haesel almost swallowed her tongue when she felt Neville’s magic appear in the manor. Morgana, it was his birthday and she hadn’t even noticed. This would be his first time in her presence since his final magical maturation. He would know in an instant what she had known, and been unable to speak of, for years. 

Two weeks ago, Neville—her dear godbrother—had probably thought his suit for her hand would be almost uncontested. Now he was going to get bludgeoned in the face with the fact that the witch he thought he loved was completely out of his reach.

Haesel buried her head in her hands, took a deep breath, and muttered, “Bloody hell, I did not need this today.” 

“Language, young lady!”

“Haesel, what’s wrong?”

“Are you all right, darling?”

Henry leaned over and cupped the back of her neck before asking, “Do you want me to get rid of him? I will if you say the word.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” Dorea said delicately. She patted her lips with a cloth napkin, even those she had no crumbs on her lips.

“Merlin, you can’t catch a break, can you? Should I tell him to get lost, Haesel?” Henry asked, looking heartsick for her.

Haesel hugged her waist and muttered, “Not now. Just—I’ll take care of it.”

She hurried from the breakfast room and toward the parlor to which one of the house-elves had taken him. It took her less than a minute to reach it. Haesel leaned against the wall and stared at her godbrother. Neville was tall and fit. His blond hair wasn’t smoothly combed like normal; he had clearly been running his hands through it. His brown eyes shone with agony and embarrassment. Neville paced across the Persian rug, his boots clomping loudly with each step.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked, his back to her, hands balled. 

The godsibling bond between them writhed. 

“No,” Haesel choked out. 

The pain of her confession ricocheted down the bond, slapping her across the face.

“Why?” he rasped, sounding on the verge of tears. 

For an irrational moment, Haesel considered lying to him. However, she wouldn’t dishonor the choice she had knowingly made, especially when it wouldn’t lessen Neville’s suffering. 

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered. 

If one person overheard, if one wisp of a single rumor caught the wrong person’s attention. . . . 

The first child she bore would be Merlin; she could not risk him before he was even born. Mother Magic wanted Charles Prewett as Merlin’s father, and Haesel would do nothing to put that in jeopardy. One Killing Curse was all it would take. No one outside the family knew she was a Chaos Mage, not even Sirius. Charles had only recognized her for what she was because he was a Chaos Mage himself.

The bond between them stretched, as if it sought to snap itself and end the pain. 

Neville turned toward her, tears streaming down his face, desperation pouring off him as she said, “I love you, Haesel. I’ve loved you for years.”

Tears dripped from her eyes and she didn’t attempt to stem them. Neville deserved her tears. Haesel put her hand against his chest, felt the beat of his heart, and relaxed. 

“No, you don’t.”

Neville stepped closer, cupped her cheeks, and said, “I could, Haesel. I’m right on the edge of it.” 

Haesel flinched and ordered, “Don’t do it, Neville. I don’t want to hurt you more.”

He leaned down and rubbed his nose along hers, breathing, “Please, Haesel.  _ Please _ . I know I have no right to ask, but . . . Merlin, I want you to accept it.”

Haesel bit her lip, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Neville was everything good and right in the world. She loathed having to hurt him this way. If Merlin’s Mark wasn’t on her skin, if she wasn’t a Chaos Mage because of that, he would be her choice.

“I cannot love you back, Neville. Don’t give it to me! Save it for a witch who can give you hers in return. I know you feel how jarring our magic is together.”

“I would learn to ignore it—for you,” he said.

“I will not accept it—for you. Morgana, Neville, I’m so sorry.” 

Haesel choked on the words. Face wet with remorse, she hunched over. It took several deep breaths to regain enough focus to leave. As she spun on her heel and Disapparated, she couldn’t get the feel of  _ rejection _ in his magic out of her mind.

She collapsed on the floor of a parlor in Black Manor, face buried in her hands as she sobbed. How could she have hurt him like that? How? Surely there had been another way to discourage his growing feelings over the years. She should have tried harder!

“Haesel! Haesel, what’s wrong?” 

Hands shook her shoulders, but she didn’t respond.

Why did protecting someone she would love mean she had to hurt someone else that mattered so much to her? Would Neville ever forgive her? Would they ever be close again? She loved him like a brother; it would hurt to lose him, but she would understand. Haesel would  _ hate it, _ but she would understand.

“Dad! Dad!”

Strong arms lifted her into the air and settled her in someone’s lap. Haesel pulled the familiar magic around herself and burrowed against her godfather’s chest. Sirius, of all people, would be able to understand her. He knew what it was like to shatter someone’s heart.

“Sirius!”

After all, he had called off his engagement to Lady Leanne McLaggen less than a month before the wedding, because he had fallen in love with Elara Selwyn. Elara had just turned sixteen; Uncle Sirius was twenty-two at the time. He had been courting Lady Leanne for five years. It was the scandal of the decade.

“Tell me what happened, Haesel,” Sirius said, voice commanding and without reprieve.

Haesel’s hands scrabbled at his robes as she said, “Sirius! He—”

“He? Who is ‘he,’ and what did he do?” Sirius asked, an undercurrent to her godfather’s voice that bespoke endless suffering.

“Dad, I just Floo-called the manor and Uncle James said they’re all safe. Haesel apparently left breakfast because she had a visitor. But Uncle James said that was only about fifteen minutes ago,” Leo said hurriedly.

“You’re sure they’re all right?” Sirius demanded.

“Yes, Dad. Absolutely sure,” Leo replied.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief against her hair and then held her more tightly, his hands running up and down her back in comforting motions. 

“I’ll handle this. Go have lunch with your mother, brother, sisters, and cousins. Tell your mother I’ll miss it and make my apologies to the Malfoys.”

“Right. Of course. Is she going to be okay?” asked Leo.

“I c-couldn’t—and he looked  _ so _ —”

“Shh. Shh. I’ve got you, Haesel. I’ve got you,” Sirius murmured against her hair. 

He must’ve glared at Leo or something, because she heard him leave without getting a response. Then again, she might not have heard it over the sound of her own weeping. 

“How did you do it, Sirius? How? It h-hurts so much!” Haesel said as she hid her face in her godfather’s neck.

“How did I do what?” Sirius asked, voice calm. 

His muscles were tense, though, and she could guess that he was imagining the worst.

“You broke the engagement. We weren’t even courting but Neville’s  _ face _ —Morgana, Sirius, his face!” 

Even here, beneath the immense wards of Black Manor, she could still feel the bitter rejection in their godsibling bond.

Sirius hugged her closer and sighed tiredly. He wove his fingers into Haesel’s hair and tugged her head backward until their gazes met.

“Ah, so that’s what this is about. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. I’ll never forget the look on Leanne’s face when I said I was  _ in love _ with Elara and couldn’t bond with her. But I don’t regret my choice; I regret that Leanne was hurt, but never the decision I made. I love Elara with all my heart, Haesel. She was worth all the speculation, scandal, and sneers thrown my way.”

That didn’t surprise her. Society adored having a new scandal about which to gossip.”

“Getting to kiss her whenever I want, waking up to her smiles in the morning, knowing that she loves me just as wholly—nothing can compete with that, Haesel. I would’ve been content with Leanne, but contentment isn’t enough. Everyone deserves more than contentment in life.”

Haesel agreed. She didn’t want to be content; she wanted to be  _ in love. _

“Elara loved me just as well. There was no aim to hurt Leanne on either of our parts. Leanne and Neville were just casualties of love. It’s horrible to say it like that, but it’s true.”

Sirius rubbed his thumbs across her cheekbones, smoothing away the tears that had fallen. 

“Wouldn’t it be more cruel to bond with Neville and spend the rest of your life wishing someone else were at your side kissing you, brushing your hair, and giving you children?”

Haesel winced. That would have been so cruel.

“Yes.”

“Then trust me when I say you need to let it go, Haesel. It wasn’t your fault. I know you, Haesel; you wouldn’t have encouraged him. You wouldn’t have teased Neville with  _ somedays _ and  _ maybes. _ So let it go. You did the right thing. It might not feel like it, but you did the right thing,” he said and kissed her forehead, letting her huddle against him again.

Haesel couldn’t picture a future without Charles, couldn’t imagine willingly sharing a bed with any other man—not even Neville. Sirius was telling the truth; she had made the right choice. Exhaustion and relief washed through her system. She needed a holiday.

“He offered me his heart; I refused it,” she confessed. 

Sirius kissed her hair and said, “You were very brave, Haesel. Love like that is tempting beyond consequences to some.”

Haesel didn’t say that she already had a love stronger than that. It was a love so great that Charles put her safety above all else, locking his own heart in his chest. Tomorrow, he would gift it to her; she felt it in her magic. She was as terrified as she was excited.

“I better be getting back before Dad explodes all the busts in the Lord’s Hall to distract himself from tearing through the Floo.”

Sirius chuckled. “He still does that when he’s anxious?”

“Yes. It irritates Grandmother to no end that she hasn’t been able to break him of the habit. Besides, he promised me a Dreamless Sleep Potion. I needed it before all this happened. Thank you, Sirius, for listening and helping.”

Haesel stood and stretched, then she kissed his cheek.

“Anytime, Prongslet.”

She headed toward the Floo, too tired to focus on Apparition. 

“Oh,” Haesel said, pausing with a hand full of Floo Powder, “can you do me a favor and remind Iolanthe she agreed a few months ago to help me get ready for my gala tomorrow night? You did say the Malfoys are here, right?”

“Yes, they are, and yes, I’ll remind her,” Sirius said.

“Thank you. I meant to send her a note, but the past few days have been hectic.” 

“You’re welcome. Now go home and get some sleep.”

Haesel threw the powder in the fireplace, stepped into the green flames, and said, “Potter Manor!” 

She launched out of the fireplace in Potter Manor and right into her father’s arms. All she wanted now was to sleep and not think or have nightmares. If it were up to her, Haesel would have taken Dreamless Sleep everyday. But until her father and grandfather figured out a recipe that would make it non-addictive when used more than once a week, she couldn’t. They were working on creating it—for her.

James handed her a single potion vial and then swept her up in his arms. He kissed her forehead and said, “I’ll tuck you in, darling. Drink your potion and let us handle anything that might come up. You don’t have to worry about anything the rest of the day. I love you.”

Haesel drank the potion and just managed to slur out, “I love you, too, Dad—so much,” before sleep claimed her.


	9. Part the Ninth

Haesel sat on a velvet-upholstered stool, back facing her mahogany vanity. Her eyes were closed to slits as she felt the miniature paintbrush dance across her face. The hem of Iolanthe Malfoy’s mint green robes was all she could see. Requesting her assistance for the evening was a stroke of genius on two levels: the girl truly was talented, and it would please Henry.

Rumors abounded in Hogwarts about which witch captivated the future Potter Lord. The odds seemed to be split between Romilda Vane, Astoria Greengrass, and Lacerta Malfoy. Haesel knew they were all wrong.

“Could you tilt your chin for me, please?” Iolanthe asked. 

Her voice was soft, like Haesel’s mother’s; it attracted attention when voiced for that very reason. She was a witch people had to  _ listen to, _ if they wanted to hear her.

Haesel obeyed, fighting the urge to squirm as the brush tickled across her skin. There was a short silence and then Iolanthe stilled. Haesel opened her eyes fully to see what was wrong, because she knew Iolanthe wasn’t done yet. 

“You wish to ask me something.” 

“Why me?” 

Against the usual customs, Iolanthe’s hair wasn’t pulled back; it hung free in silky golden curls. Haesel knew she had only left it down because they Apparated directly to her chambers. Only a witch’s husband, parents, and children had the right to see her hair in all its glory.

Refusing to reveal her brother’s secret, Haesel debated on what to say. She wasn’t fond of deceit. 

“I wanted it to be you.”

Iolanthe bit her lower lip, another thing she would never do in public. It was a nervous tick, a fidget; it reminded Haesel of when she had been twelve and constantly picked at her nails, much to her mother’s consternation. 

“For Master Henry?”

“What?”

Haesel blinked. Had Henry unwittingly revealed where his interest lay during one of their Quidditch match outings with the Malfoys? Impossible! Lacerta would’ve thrown a fit. It was common knowledge that she had set her cap at Henry, just as Pansy Parkinson had set hers at Draco.

Light pink colored Iolanthe’s cheeks as she stared down at the toes of her slippers and asked, “Can you keep a secret, Lady Haesel?”

Haesel was insulted at the implied slight to her honor. It must’ve shown on her face when Iolanthe glanced upward, because she paled, which was quite a feat given the Malfoy complexion.

Iolanthe trembled and fisted her hands. “I didn’t mean it like—I meant to ask, may I have your word that you won’t mention what I’m about to tell you to anyone? I would never doubt the Vow of a Potter. I just—if word got out before I’m bonded. . . .” 

Haesel reached forward and placed a hand over Iolanthe’s nearest fist, uncurling the fingers gently. The half-moons on the girl’s palm were deep; she had almost drawn her own blood. 

“You have my word.”

Gaze fixed on her slippers once more, Iolanthe confided, “I got my first menses in February. They came with a  _ Gift.  _ I—I’m a Matchmaker.” 

The word ‘gift’ was smothered in inflections, sounding more like ‘curse’ than anything else. 

It was hard to breathe, and not because of the corset Haesel wore. She had known Iolanthe was Gifted, but hadn’t been able to recognize the Gift in question.

There hadn’t been a true Matchmaker since Meliflua Malfoy’s time, some two hundred years past. Iolanthe was right to be frightened; if anyone found out, the battle for her hand would be second in brutality only to Haesel’s own. As a Matchmaker she could see the bonds between people, could follow the threads of magic to determine if two individuals were compatible, and, if so, how compatible. It was a gift that ran in the Malfoy line, rarely surfacing, and brought much distinction and honor.

It was a dangerous claim to make, and yet—Haesel had to be sure. 

“Prove it.” 

Iolanthe’s blue eyes focused on her; her irises shone like starfire. 

She swallowed, as if she feared her words would upset Haesel, and said, “You’re going to soul-bond. You’ve already met your Chosen lord, and he has accepted your magical claiming. The world has not seen the like of your bonding since  _ Merlin _ himself proved worthy of the Lady Morgana.”

The extra emphasis terrified Haesel. 

“You can’t tell anyone!”

Iolanthe placed a hand over her own hip-bone and whispered, “I would never risk my son’s protector like that.”

Haesel stilled at what that confession implied.  _ King Arthur. _

“Why did you mention my brother?” 

Her thoughts flittered back to what had prompted this confession. Haesel thought she knew, but she had to be sure. Her brother’s heart wasn’t something to be trifled with—especially not after what Iolanthe had just very clearly  _ not-said. _

Tears pooled in Iolanthe’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she whispered, “If my parents don’t formally betroth me to someone because I’m the second daughter, Master Henry and I will soul-bond.” 

The blood in Haesel’s veins felt like ice. She hadn’t considered that. Sometimes the second born daughters were bartered away in betrothal contracts without ever getting a season. 

“Has there been talk of such?”

“Y-yes.” 

Haesel was impressed with Iolanthe’s fortitude. If she had been in the same situation, if her parents thought to keep her from a true soul-bond, knowingly or not, the agony would be immense. It would feel like the worst type of betrayal, especially to a young girl who had been Sorted into Hufflepuff due to family loyalty.

“You haven’t told your parents,” stated Haesel.

Iolanthe fisted her robes over her hip-bone and said, “No. None of it. Father would announce it to the world. I’m not ready for that.” 

He would, too. Lucius Malfoy couldn’t help but flaunt himself. He reminded Haesel all-too-much of the stuffy white peacocks on the Malfoy properties. 

Feeling her brother’s magic approach her chambers, Haesel narrowed her eyes shrewdly. Even if Iolanthe hadn’t possessed such a wonderful magical gift, she couldn’t allow Lucius and Narcissa to betroth Iolanthe to someone else. It would break her brother’s heart. He must feel the potential of their bond, because he had had eyes for no one but Iolanthe since he first met her.

Henry laughingly saying he would name his firstborn Arthur wouldn’t leave her head.

“If given the choice, you would have my brother?” asked Haesel. 

“I wish for no other.”

Haesel stood up and tucked a finger under Iolanthe’s chin to raise her head. She was lovely, even while crying. 

“If you will trust me, will believe in the Potter honor, will know I mean only for you and my brother to be happy, I will ensure he is yours. Will you place yourself in my hands?”

Raw gratitude swamped Iolanthe’s pale features. Her blonde curls bobbed as she nodded and promised, “I will.”

Haesel hugged her tightly and then stepped backward, a smile on her face. “Then welcome to the family. Wait here for a minute, please. And remember, you have to trust me. All right?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Haesel waved a hand dismissively and said, “None of that ‘my lady’ nonsense. You’re going to be my sister. You have permission to call me by my name.”

A wide smile greeted her comment. “Thank you, Haesel.” 

“Much better!” 

Haesel clapped her hands and then stalked out of her dressing room and through her bedchamber. She turned the knob and opened the door just as Henry raised his hand to knock.

Henry’s eyes swept her form. He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “Haesel, I was expecting you to be ready by now. Your gala starts in an hour. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

Haesel beckoned her brother into her room and then shut the door. She leaned against the door and said, “Something very important has been brought to my attention.”

“Oh? What’s that? Something to do with your Charles?” Henry asked, face pensive.

She ignored that teasing jab and asked, “What are your feelings for Iolanthe Malfoy?”

Henry halted, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air beside her face, and rasped, “Why are you asking me that? You already know them.” 

“Remind me,” she commanded. 

After the tearful confession her future little sister had just given, she had to be sure of her brother’s own emotions—regardless of how many times she had heard them in the past. The rebirth of the Once and Future King was not something to take lightly.

He must have Arthur’s Mark; it hurt that he hadn’t confided in her. It was only the knowledge that Mother Magic had likely forbidden him from mentioning it for some reason that let her not dwell on her hurt feelings.

“I would have her for my wife. Like you and your Charles, I want no other. I’ll happily wait until she’s of age, and then win her hand,” Henry stated. 

His jaw was clenched with determination and his hazel eyes dared her to call him a liar. That was enough proof for her.

“I need you to trust me, Henry, and do everything I ask of you for the next few minutes. Will you do that?” 

It was a lot to ask of most people, but she knew that Henry knew she wouldn’t ask such a thing of him lightly. 

“I will.” 

“Then follow me.” 

She spun on her heel, the skirt of her gown flaring out before settling back against her legs. Haesel walked back to her dressing room, smirking when Henry gasped behind her. A glance over her shoulder showed that he had stopped at the threshold, staring helplessly at Iolanthe’s beautiful unbound curls.

“Haesel?” Iolanthe asked, voice trembling. 

Her cheeks had darkened to a deep pink when Henry entered the room. She edged closer to the vanity, as if she sought to hide behind it from Henry’s worshipful gaze.

Henry exclaimed, “I’m so sorry, Lady Iolanthe! I never would’ve dreamed of intruding on—”

Haesel grabbed his arm when he went to turn around and leave, words of apology tumbling from his lips. She tugged him deeper into her dressing room.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Haesel, what are you doing?” Henry asked, sounding truly scandalized with her for the first time she could remember.

She finally came to a halt just feet away from Iolanthe and released her brother. 

“What needs to be done,” Haesel replied, chin lifted. 

Yes, this was all more than a mite improper, but she was acting as their chaperone, so it wasn’t completely horrific. Besides, it’s not like anyone else would ever find out where this happened anyway. She wasn’t going to tell anyone, and the fierce blushes on Henry’s and Iolanthe’s faces ensured they would keep quiet as well.

“Henry, hold your hands behind you,” Haesel commanded.

“Why should I—?”

“Just do it!” 

She nodded in satisfaction once he clasped his hands behind his back. There, he was less threatening that way; it gave the illusion he couldn’t touch anything. Now, for the hard part.

“Haesel, what’s going on?” Iolanthe whispered, eyes flitting from Henry to Haesel and then back.

“Come here, little sister.” 

Iolanthe moved to Haesel’s side and pressed herself against it. She set a hand on Iolanthe’s curls and tenderly feathered her fingers through them; they were tighter than her own and wonderfully silky. 

“I can think of only one way to guarantee your parents can’t sign a betrothal contract in your name.”

Henry inhaled deeply and swayed, as if he might faint from the shock of what he had just heard. He looked ill and pained as he stared at them.

Haesel turned Iolanthe so that they were facing each other, and then placed her forehead against the younger girl’s. Thankfully, it hadn’t been painted yet. 

“Will you trust in the Potter honor?”

“Yes.”

“Then give Henry your maiden’s kiss.” 

Iolanthe was visibly flummoxed. She snuggled against Haesel’s side and turned her head to stare up at Henry. There was nervousness on her face, but that was quickly squashed. Haesel could only offer the opportunity; it was Iolanthe’s leap to take. 

A small step was all that separated Henry from the girls. Iolanthe closed the distance. 

“You will love me.” It wasn’t a question.

Henry nodded anyway. “Yes.”

Her slender hands rose in the air and hovered near his shoulders. Iolanthe asked, cheeks burning, “May I touch you?” 

Henry gulped. “Yes.”

Iolanthe set her hands on his shoulders for balance and leaned up on her tiptoes. Henry still had to bend down slightly to make up the difference in their heights. She closed her eyes and very gently placed her lips atop Henry’s, sealing their destiny as future husband and wife.

Their magic flared so brightly when their lips met that Haesel had to squint.

Haesel barely restrained a snort at the awed look on her brother’s face. He had kept his eyes open the whole time, as if he wanted to imprint each second in his memory, so that it could never be forgotten. Perhaps she would get him a Pensieve for his birthday; then he could relive and replay it to his heart’s content. 

Her grin widened when Iolanthe stepped backward, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks before rising. The strain to keep from reaching for her was visible in every line of her brother’s body. The glint in his eyes had changed from covetousness to possessiveness, as if he had finally earned something he had long sought.

It was, Haesel suddenly realized, similar to how Charles stared at her. It said,  _ You are mine and nothing can change that. You belong to me, love _ .

Now that Haesel had seen that, she was almost desperate to see Charles again. That meant she needed to hurry and finish getting ready. She could pout later about Henry getting kissed before she got her first kiss. It was one more victory he would hold over her head for life.

“You can stay if you want, Henry, but please be quiet. Iolanthe will need to concentrate while she paints my face.”

He nodded dumbly and collapsed onto a nearby chair, staring worshipfully at Iolanthe, much to Haesel’s amusement.

Haesel reclaimed her seat and tilted her head just so, silently asking Iolanthe to resume her task. The paintbrush tickled across her skin moments later, swirling down her chin, before working up and around her eyes. It slid up her forehead in smooth strokes and gentle dots, drying as soon as the brush left her skin to collect more paint. 

Haesel wanted her costume tonight to drive Charles wild.

For the first time in her life, she understood why her mother insisted everything be  _ just so _ when she was going somewhere with her father. Haesel had styled and restyled her mother’s hair countless times, had helped her change elaborate robes, and painted her face or arranged masks. She had thought it silly pampering as a young girl, but now it all made sense.

Haesel wanted Charles’s mouth to literally drop open when he saw her tonight, and nothing was going to deter her.

The sound of Iolanthe setting down the palette jarred Haesel out of her daydream. Clever fingers worked at her hair for a few minutes, adding the final touches. 

Iolanthe pursed her lips, scrutinizing her from head to toe, and then proudly announced, “You’re ready.”

Haesel gracefully rose and turned to face the mirror, which had been miraculously silent this entire time. If she didn’t know better, she would say it was flabbergasted. Haesel stared at herself critically, before casting one final charm to change the color of her hair.

Charles wouldn’t be able to keep his magic off her.

“Perfect,” Haesel breathed. “Thank you.”

Iolanthe grinned and curtseyed, saying, “It was my honor. Truly, it was.”

“Haesel, I’m not sure you should be left alone tonight,” Henry choked out.

Haesel laughed gaily. “Why, thank you, Henry. That’s a lovely compliment.”

“I’m serious. What if something happens to you?” he demanded.

“Nothing will happen to me. Besides the fact that I can protect myself, Charles would never let anything happen to me,” Haesel assured him.

“And if Charles happens to you?” Henry muttered.

Haesel froze, and then glanced kindly at Iolanthe and said, “I’m very grateful for your help, but it’s almost time for the gala. I’m sure your mother is awaiting your return before she leaves for it. I’ve altered the wards for you.”

Iolanthe nodded and grasped the necklace that lay against her chest. She glanced shyly at Henry and whispered, “Until later, Master Henry.”

“Goodbye, my lady,” he breathed as she activated the Portkey and vanished from Haesel’s chambers.

Haesel whispered with a pain-filled voice, “Is that what you truly think of me? That I would allow  _ anyone _ to—” 

Henry fisted his hands in his hair and leapt to his feet. “No! No! I don’t think you would  _ let _ him—I just—you’re all grown up now. Soon enough you’ll be living in a different manor, or castle, or wherever Lord Prewett makes his home. You won’t be just down the hall when I need you. You might not even be in the country! You’ll be  _ his lady _ more than  _ my sister,” _ he said, suddenly looking tired. 

“Oh, Henry. We knew things would change,” Haesel said, hugging him. 

Henry kept his hands on the back of her waist, as if worried he would muss her. 

“But not this fast. I thought it would be years before you found him. You haven’t even been presented yet, and he’s already got you.”

Haesel leaned back in his hold. She kissed his cheek, and his eyes softened as he smiled at her. 

“No matter what else changes in my life, you will always be my brother. I’ll always be here for you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, I believe we have a gala to attend.”

“Indeed, we do.”

Right before they left her chambers to head down to the ballroom, she said, “By the way, you make a very dashing King Arthur. Poor Iolanthe must have had a heart attack when you came in here dressed like that.”

Henry’s laughter echoed as they descended the grand staircase. 

“At least I’ll never have to worry about my queen straying.”

“I should think not!”

A loud clang sounded behind them and Haesel spun around to see a lethal scimitar on the floor, just a foot away from Zach, who wore harem-style pants, no shirt, and a gold mask. 

“Aladdin?” she guessed. 

Aladdin was the last known wizard to have commanded the loyalty of a Djinn; it had long been one of Zach’s favorite wizarding tales.

“Merlin, Haesel”—his eyes ran over her body several times, becoming more appreciative with each glance—“you’ll cause a bloody riot.” Zach’s gaze suddenly snapped to her face as he said, “Later, I would like you to explain in precise detail who, exactly, inspired you to put in this much effort.” 

He looked hurt that she hadn’t confided in him yet, and she winced. She should’ve made telling Zach a priority. He was her best friend and he deserved the truth. Tonight, she would tell him about Charles.

“Thank you. I will,” she answered. 

“You had best get in there before everyone starts arriving if you don’t want to be mobbed. You’re lucky you don’t have to stand in the receiving line because you haven’t been presented yet. Make it quick, will you? They will be here any minute,” Zach said, gesturing lazily at the ballroom. 

“Of course. Thank you again, Zach. I’ll see you later,” said Haesel.

“Yes, you will.”

Haesel hurried into the ballroom, somewhat dazzled by the splendor. Her family had gone all out. There were thousands of floating candles in various colors, tables full of delicacies, and a live orchestra already practicing. The orchestra seemed to be standing on air, but Haesel knew it was actually a thin sheet of crystal spelled to be transparent.

There were several alcoves and antechambers off the sides of the ballroom, curtained with flowing chiffon. She entered one partway down the ballroom, leaving Henry by the food, and smirked at her reflection. She had chosen this particular alcove because one wall was a massive, aged mirror.

The gown she wore was very old-fashioned: a corseted top and the barest scrap of lace served as sleeves to keep it up. They kissed the outside edges of her shoulders, appearing as if they would slip and fall off any minute. Her skirts fell to the floor, but there was a slit in the top layer of fabric that reached to her waist in the front. The material was ice-blue and Charmed to flicker as if it had been set alight; blue-white flames danced across it. The under layers of the gown were iridescent silver and white. Her hair was piled atop her head in snow-white curls, each pinned in place with pearls. Feathers of varying shades—white, silver, ice-blue—had been woven into her hair.

The crowning glory, though, was Iolanthe’s artwork. Painted across Haesel’s face with magical paints, meaning it lived as portraits did, was an ice phoenix. Its wings were spread in flight and its long tail-feathers kissed down her neck, periodically shifting to encircle it like a choker. Its talons curled and jerked, as if catching and killing prey. It was ferociously stunning.

A swelling crescendo of music shattered her reverie, and Haesel realized the dancing was about to begin. She was meant to sit out the first three dances, and the fourth would be her first waltz, after which she would be officially introduced to pureblood society. 

Then she felt it: Charles’s magic.

It rolled across the ballroom, warning her that he was coming. Irritation occasionally tainted it, and she could just imagine people stopping to speak with him. Oh, how that would annoy him. They had already been kept apart much too long.

Closer, closer, closer, until—Haesel grinned and folded her hands before her like a proper lady. She turned to face the chiffon curtain just as his shadow fell against it. It was time for the moment of truth. Had she succeeded as well as everyone seemed to think?

Charles pushed aside the curtain and then halted instantly, as if Petrified. His eyes darkened rapidly, like the sea during a storm, and she heard his breath hitch in his throat. His jaw dropped about an inch, but the compliment inherent in the action, coming from someone so controlled, made it seem like a league. His hand shook the slightest bit, sending ripples along the curtain. The gold rings holding it up chinked together. That must have broken his trance, because Charles released it and strode forward, his magic crashing toward her like a tidal wave against a rocky cliff.

He stopped before her, hands reaching forward and enclosing about her waist, his pinkies fitting against the flare of her hips. His magic serenaded her. Eyes flaring with a need that made her a little nervous, he possessively purred,  _ “My lady.” _

Her stomach fluttered in response. 

He was devilishly handsome tonight, literally. Transfigured demon horns curled out of his deep auburn hair. The formal Lord’s Robes he wore flickered with red flames, and his shoes resembled cloven hooves. Haesel knew without having to ask that he was dressed as the Incubus who had fathered Myrddin Emrys, who was commonly known as Merlin.

It felt like an inside joke and declaration of intent all at once.

Haesel lifted one trembling hand and set it over his heart, allowing her magic to drown him as his scorched her. Lost in their entwining magic, she leaned up, her lips brushing against his earlobe. Her seductive tone shocked her. The words were pleading for freedom and she was pleased to grant it and acknowledge the truth. 

“ _ My lord _ .”

His heart skipped beneath her palm once, twice, and then vanished. 


	10. Part the Tenth

Haesel knew what she was supposed to do, as a dutiful daughter of her House. She was supposed to have her first waltz with Uncle Valerius. She had chosen him herself when she returned from The Pied Piper. She needed to step away from Charles and go find her uncle, because the music for the third dance—a cotillion—was almost at an end.

Her mother and grandmother had been planning this gala for over a year. Every detail was nitpicked to perfection.

Yet, she couldn’t step away from him. Her heart felt so heavy in her chest with his beating inside it. Haesel didn’t want to leave him. 

“Waltz with me.” 

“Yes.” 

Charles’s hold on her waist tightened, and his eyes darkened further. He shifted his grip so they were in the proper form and then danced her right out of the alcove on the first beat of the music.

Haesel wished she were invisible as the other partygoers stopped waltzing to stare at her and Charles with wide eyes and dropped jaws. Those three unspoken words,  _ “I love you,” _ consumed her. His heart skipped a beat inside her own. She wouldn’t allow anyone to think she was ashamed of being in his arms—not when it was the only place she ever wanted to be. So Haesel took a deep breath and raised her head higher, locking gazes with him as she pretended they weren’t the sole focus of everyone present.

Charles’s hand on her waist was firm, leading her from one step to the next. Their bodies moved in harmony, scandalously close. There would be furor, scandal, gossip, and she found that she couldn’t care.

Why should Haesel have to pretend anymore? Why should she have to lie and imply that any other man would have a chance at her heart? Surely that would be crueler than destroying all of their hopes in one fell swoop. She was done, sick of all the pretense.

As she acknowledged that, Haesel felt an overwhelming sense of relief. 

Haesel laid her cheek against Charles’s chest, over where his heart no longer resided. The clamor in the ballroom rose in volume to an almost deafening pitch. Charles’s thumb brushed her waist reassuringly, before he tugged her that much closer. Their fronts were nearly touching, as if someone had cast a sticking charm on them that they had no desire to cancel.

Every shift of their bodies bespoke a singular truth: Lady Haesel Potter was off the bonding-market.

The violins and cellos thrummed with one final note, and then the orchestra stopped playing. The lack of music must have shocked the guests, because they all fell silent in unison.

Charles released her, his hand trailing daringly across her hip as he stepped backward. He bowed to her, quite deeply, and then kissed the back of the hand he still held in his own. “My lady.” 

The verbal affirmation of his claim before others sent a thrill of excitement through her.

Haesel picked up the hem of her dress with her free hand and sank into a deep curtsey, eyes staring up at him from under her lashes the entire time. “My lord,” she acknowledged.

Sharp, precise footsteps echoed through the ballroom. They came from behind her. Charles stared over her shoulder, a challenge and defiance written on his face. She knew who it was before he reached her and could only pray to Morgana that he, of all people, would understand.

A tan hand curled around her arm and lifted her to her feet. She reluctantly obeyed the implied command to remove her hand from Charles’s grasp; their magic sparked painfully when they parted. 

“Haesel, darling, your grandparents will be introducing you. It seems your mother and I need to have a conversation with Lord Prewett.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I’ll be back soon, my lady,” Charles whispered. 

Haesel was vaguely aware of Zach and Uncle Valerius each taking one of her arms and escorting her across the ballroom, but she was too lost in thought to pay attention to where they were going. She was aware enough to smile and curtsey as her grandfather introduced her.

“It gives me great pleasure to present my granddaughter, Lady Haesel Isadore Potter, Baroness of Potter Fields.”

Of course, he didn’t use her true title. It wouldn’t be safe before Merlin was born. In magic, she was the Duchess of Caerfyrddin. When they bonded, Charles would be her Duke. And at some point in the future, Merlin would be Lord of his own birthplace-fortress again.

Her grandfather lifted a flute of champagne in a toast, saying, “Thank you for attending her coming of age gala and helping us celebrate this momentous occasion. She is as beautiful as she is honorable. To Lady Haesel!”

“Lady Haesel!” echoed from all corners of the ballroom.

Haesel drank with them, though she had no recollection of being handed a glass. She set it on a tray one of the house-elves was carrying around.

“Let the dancing continue!” Charlus declared, a wide smile on his face. 

The orchestra picked right back up on the set they had been playing.

Zach all but dragged her into the nearest alcove. Uncle Valerius winked at her as she passed and then leaned against the column, as if daring anyone to bother them.

He smirked like a smarmy git and asked, “Lord Prewett? I never thought I had any skill at Divination, but I totally called it. I totally called it! Why, just the other day I told you I bet he had returned to England for you. And here you are waltzing in his arms. Called. It.”

Haesel snorted as he got more theatrical by the moment. 

“All right, I’ll say it. You were right. I was . . . not entirely right.” 

It was their traditional forfeit for when one of them guessed something right and the other didn’t. Both of them refused to admit to being  _ wrong. _

“Does he make you happy?”

The extra weight in her chest made her smile. “Very much.”

“So, Lord Prewett managed to catch you in his net,” said Zach, elbowing her gently in the side.

“So it would seem,” she replied.

Zach stepped closer, so her shoulder rested against his chest, and asked, “How do you feel about that?” 

_ “So loved.” _

Even as the words left Haesel’s mouth, she could barely believe it. The sensation was so new and precious.

“What’s it like?” Zach asked wistfully, one hand pressed to his empty chest.

Haesel flinched, remembering Zach’s predicament, and asked, “Truth or kindness?”

“Truth.”

She spun and grinned at her best friend, saying, “Like I can do anything in the world, and I won’t even need a drop of magic to accomplish it.”

Zach’s eyes bore into her, as if weighing whether or not she wanted an honest response to that. It was an absent gesture, she knew, because he never offered her anything but the truth. He was unfailingly honest—to the point of discourtesy, on occasion. 

“I’m jealous as a Parkinson that you know what it is to be really loved. But”—he hugged her—“I’m so happy for you.”

Haesel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you, Zach.” 

“You’ve Chosen him, haven’t you?” Zach demanded.

Haesel nodded, remembering the moment she recognized Charles’s magic. “I have.”

Zach chuckled and smiled at her. “You deserve happiness, Princess.” 

He trailed his fingers down her cheek, before cupping her face gently. The tenderness on his face changed to granite in an instant as he looked over her shoulder. 

“Just remember the promise I made you years ago. If your future husband ever lays a hand on you in anger, I’ll murder him.”

“You’d have to get in line. I’d murder myself first,” Charles said from right behind her. 

Haesel leaned back against his chest. She believed it, too, though she couldn’t even imagine a scenario where he would so lose himself that he would harm her. Charles wasn’t the type of man who lashed out in response to anger. He plotted.

“Bloody hell, I think I’m going to like you. I didn’t want to like you,” Zach muttered, frowning contrarily.

Charles laughed so hard that she shook against him. It was a booming sound that made her want to laugh along with him. So she did.

“I already like you, Heir Smith. You’ll always be welcome in my—our—home.”

“I should tell Heir Potter that I’m against this. You’re much too likeable for a Slytherin. It’s suspicious,” Zach said as he glared at Charles.

“You say that like being courteous won’t get people to bend to your will.”

Zach huffed and stared right into Haesel’s eyes, ordering, “Keep him.”

Laughter spilled from her lips. Of all the question marks in her future, Charles wasn’t one of them. “Oh, I am. I definitely am,” Haesel assured him. 

Charles’s magic, which had been tangling with her own, fell still. 

“Oh? You’re keeping me, are you?”

Haesel cocked an eyebrow. She turned to face him, put her hands on her hips, and tapped her foot. “Yes, I am. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Charles smirked, wide and self-satisfied, and gloated, “Not if I keep you first. I already signed a contract with your father. I think that means I win this round.” 

Then, laughter spilling from his lips at the affronted look on her face, Charles danced her back out into the gala.

Zach’s mocking, “Called it!” followed her.

* * *

Haesel’s chest ached when she dressed for bed, her heart seeking escape. As was the Potter family’s Blessing or Curse (depending on who you asked), and like all her ancestors before her, she had fallen  _ in love _ in an instant.

She had been on the edge when Charles gave her his heart. It was difficult to feel that much love for her inside her own body and not instantly lose her heart in return. Nothing, not even the full force of the Potter family magic, compared.

It was during the last waltz of the evening that she Fell.

Charles had rubbed his thumb over the mark on her hip-bone, as if he knew exactly where it was; it blazed beneath his caress. A single thread of his magic burrowed through her gown and into the mark.

The only way to describe what she felt then was  _ cherished. _

Haesel had waited for the wizard who would be her lord-husband since the mark first appeared on her skin. And though she had known nothing of what he would be like, she had come to love him. Because he was her perfect match in magic, her destined soul-mate, and she desperately wanted him.

Now he was within her reach, not a distant dream of someday. Charles was better than she had dared to imagine for herself. Haesel didn’t want to let him go, so—

Haesel Fell.

It took every bit of restraint she had to keep hold of her heart as she did so. Because on the day they bonded, which her magic urged her to ensure was soon, Haesel wanted to give Charles her Trinity.

Her heart. Her soul. Her virtue.

* * *

Closing her bedroom door behind her late the next morning, Haesel stalked the distance to her brother’s chambers and slipped inside without knocking. He was sitting before the unlit fireplace, hands clenching the tunic he wore.

“What if Granddad doesn’t approve?”

Haesel snorted and walked over, setting her open palms on his shoulders. She said, “He’ll approve. Compared to the drama I caused last night, your actions barely qualify as drama.”

“But what if—?”

“How long do you plan to play this game, Henry?” asked Haesel as she skirted around him, her hands now on her hips. 

Henry rarely showed vulnerability like this, but she could understand why he was right now. He had liked Iolanthe since they had met when he was nine and she was just a little blonde fairy twirling in circles on the lawn by the pond. 

Even Haesel had been enchanted by and drawn to the littlest Malfoy (Haesel finally understood why). 

“What if Granddad . . . ?”

Sighing, Haesel crouched down and knelt on the floor. Right now was for Henry; she’d deal with her own worries later. She wrapped her arms around her brother and ruffled his hair. 

“Henry, what’s really the matter? You know Grandfather would never refuse your suit, seeing as she’s given you her maiden’s kiss; it would be entirely dishonorable and reflect poorly on our family. That’s not even taking into account that he will respect your feelings for her.”

“I—” 

Henry’s hands grabbed at her robes and pulled her closer. His voice was thick, as if tears were threatening to overcome him. She couldn’t remember the last time Henry had cried. 

“Iolanthe is fourteen, Haesel. What if she comes to regret giving me her maiden’s kiss? She’s it for me, I know that well, but what if I’m only a passing fancy for her? What if she comes to regret pledging herself to me? I couldn’t bear that.”

Haesel hadn’t realized how fragile Henry’s confidence was when it came to relationships. Given what Iolanthe  _ didn’t-say, _ he should know nothing would make Iolanthe change her mind.

“That’s what this is about? You don’t have to worry about that, Henry,” she replied, remembering Iolanthe’s admission of being a Matchmaker and that she was meant to soul-bond with Henry.

Henry pulled away and stared up at her with pleading eyes, asking, “How can you be sure?”

“I gave my word to keep her secret,” Haesel said. 

When Henry ducked his head, she hooked her hand under his chin and lifted it back up. 

“However, I can tell you that Iolanthe will never willingly change her mind or heart about you, Henry. The strength of your bond will be akin to mine and Charles’s.” 

_ A soul-bond, _ went unspoken. 

His dropped jaw informed her that he had caught the implication. Hope dawned across his face. Sometimes, Haesel forgot just how young he was. Then something like this happened and reminded her he was only fifteen. 

“So she won’t change her mind? I can keep her?”

Laughing, Haesel ruffled his hair and said, “Yes, Henry, you can keep her. Another future Potter Lord managed to capture the bride of his dreams.”

Henry smiled cockily, all traces of insecurity gone. 

“Of course I did. I think it’s part of the family magic. I’ve never heard of a Potter—male or female—not bonding for love.”

Standing, Haesel almost flinched at the tingling in her legs and said, “Maybe one of our ancestors overdosed on Felix Felicis, bonded in the Ancient Ways under the Olde Magick, and created an heir at the same time; the luck could have been passed down in love.” 

Henry snorted and gave her a one-armed hug, guiding her out of his room.

“Yes, that does sound like something one of our ancestors would’ve done. After all, we’re reckless in the face of true love.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Mmhmm. Just be grateful Lord Prewett only danced you onto a ballroom floor, instead of absconding with you somewhere to bond in the Ancient Ways,” Henry said, smirking wickedly. 

Haesel’s cheeks burned as she half-heartedly punched her brother, lacking the energy to entertain the thought or invent a suitable comeback. She was still exhausted from everything that had been happening recently. 

“Charles and Father signed a contract last night. I’m sure Father specified he and mum would be there to hand me over before we bond.”

She didn’t refute Henry’s assertion that she and Charles would bond in the Ancient Ways under the Olde Magick. Haesel had known she would since Merlin’s Mark first appeared on her skin at age eleven. Charles would bond her the same way Merlin had bonded the Lady Morgana. 

“Without a doubt. I don’t think they would ever forgive you if you essentially eloped. Since they can’t be at your actual bonding, for the obvious reasons, handing you over is all they will get.”

“I know.” 

Haesel would do nothing to deprive them of that simple pleasure.

Henry hugged her and set his chin on the top of her head, whispering, “Look at us, falling apart over love. You’d think we’d be happy about it.” 

“Love is scary,” Haesel breathed as she clung to her brother. 

“It is.”

“The possibility of losing someone who completes you so utterly is terrifying. I haven’t even had his heart a day, and it’s so heavy. How some people carry multiple hearts, I will never know. But then I remember his sarcastic smirks and taunting barbs and I wonder how I ever survived without him,” Haesel said before she stepped backward and beamed at her brother. 

Chuckling, Henry started down the hall again, teasing, “I’m sure Zach helped out there.”

Haesel tossed her head back and laughed, recalling the countless times Zach had said something impolite, impolitic, or improper in her presence. He had helped ground her all these years, subtly reminding her that she was more than a legendary title. 

“He did. He certainly did.”

They stopped before the double doors that marked the entrance to their grandfather’s study. It wasn’t a place Haesel visited often, because legal matters rarely involved her; her father usually handled such things. The sound of Haesel knocking echoed down the hall.

“Come.”

Haesel twisted the lion’s head doorknob and pushed open the right door. A quick glance showed that her grandfather, grandmother, father, and mother were all inside—most likely discussing her upcoming bonding to  _ Lord Prewett _ .

“Yes?” Charlus asked.

Haesel’s lips twitched as a naughty idea came to mind. How long had it been since she last played a prank on Henry? Much too long, surely. She put a hand on her brother’s back and shoved him into the study, snickering as he stumbled two steps forward with fiery cheeks. 

“Henry here has been kissing virgin maidens and went and got himself betrothed. Iolanthe’s hair was down”—her mother and grandmother gasped—“and he wouldn’t stop staring at it, even when she tried to hide behind my vanity. You’ve raised a total rake, Dad. I’m quite impressed.” 

Her father and grandfather were goggling at Henry as he spluttered incoherently. 

“You might want to pacify Lord Malfoy before he challenges Henry to a duel to the death over his daughter’s honor. She is, after all, only fourteen.”

Henry spun around and pointed at her, arm shaking, and declared, “That’s not how it happened at all!”

“So you don’t deny kissing Iolanthe Malfoy?” Isadore asked.

“W-well, no.”

“And her hair wasn’t down?” Dorea inquired, a grin on her face as she stared at him.

Henry blinked as an enormous grin spread his lips. “Oh, it most certainly was.”

James stood up, patted his son on the back, and declared, “Brilliant! Another Potter wins the woman of his dreams. I recognize that look. I wore it the first night I kissed your mother.” 

Charlus sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, demanding, “Both of you in the same day? Don’t you know how much paperwork I already have?”

“Sorry, Grandfather!”

“Sorry, Grandad!” 

Haesel and Henry spoke in unison. Neither of them sounded the least bit sorry. If anything, they sounded smug. 

Charlus stood and waved for James and Henry to accompany him. “Let’s go call on the Malfoys and get a contract signed before Lucius threatens a Blood Feud, or the harpy daughter kills her sister out of jealousy.”

Dorea was still laughing when the three of them left via the Floo. Her hand over her mouth did nothing to stifle it. 

“He shouldn’t have said that, but it’s true. Lacerta Malfoy is worse than Pansy Parkinson.”

“Quite,” Isadore agreed, lips twitching.

Once the laughter died, Dorea focused on Haesel with blazing eyes and said, “It’s good you’re awake. We need to have a talk.”


	11. Part the Eleventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One line of dialogue is quoted directly from _The Coming of Arthur_ by Lord Alfred Tennyson. One line of dialogue is quoted and slightly paraphrased from _Le Morte d’Arthur_ by Sir Thomas Malory.

Haesel sighed and entered her bedchamber, unconsciously spreading her arms outward as her mother undressed her and led her into the bathroom. She sank into the hot water and began picking at her nails.

"Stop that, Haesel. You'll chip the paint," Isadore admonished.

"Yes, Mum," she absently replied, though she kept picking.

It had been a week since her mother and grandmother asked her if she wanted to return to Hogwarts for her final year, or take her N.E.W.T.s at the Ministry. It had been a week since they had asked if she wanted to bond soon, or after graduation if she chose to return to Hogwarts. 

The thought of waiting a year to bond made her magic writhe. Whether she would decide to return to Hogwarts for her final year or not, she didn’t know yet.

All Haesel knew for sure, she told them: “The mark burns more each day. I’ll decide on the schooling later, but the bonding should be a priority.”

“It’ll be arranged for a week from today, then, so we have time to get you appropriate robes. I’d never have us act against Mother Magic’s Will,” her grandmother said. 

Haesel  _ loved _ Charles; he was her lord—there was no question of that. The sweet letters and flowers he had sent her every day had pushed her over the edge into  _ loving him. _

He had even joined the Malfoys, Henry, and Haesel in attending a Professional Quidditch Game two days past. Puddlemere United had slaughtered the Falmouth Falcons, but she couldn’t remember anything about the game other than the final score. 

She had spent almost the entire match whispering with Charles, cuddled inside his magic.

And just like he had, she was holding her heart hostage in her chest. Haesel wanted to gift it to him with her first kiss.

"Get out of the bath, darling," Isadore said.

"Yes, Mum." 

Haesel stood beneath the golden tree and let the family magic dry her, more cognizant of its presence and power than ever before.

She was so excited for her bonding; it felt right all the way down to her core. At the same time, Haesel was so nervous. Moving forward meant, by necessity, leaving things behind. Like Henry had said, her family wouldn’t be just down the hall as they always had been. She would have a new home, new rooms, new heraldry colors. 

Thankfully, Lotsy would be coming with her, so she would at least have that comfort of home.

"I’m nervous," whispered Haesel.

Her mother halted, hands still twisted up in Haesel's hair as the brush ceased smoothing out the strands. 

"He won’t hurt you. Even before your father made him swear on the Prewett family magics not to ever knowingly harm you, I knew he wouldn’t. He’s a good man, darling,” Isadore said.

“I know.” 

Haesel had never been the slightest bit worried that Charles would harm her physically.

Haesel met her mother’s eyes in the mirror—they were identical to hers—and said,  _ "I love him,  _ but I'm going to miss you all so much."

“Oh, darling, we’ll be here whenever you want to come see us. You can come everyday if you want. You know I visit my parents several times a week. You’re not losing us, Haesel, you’re gaining more family,” Isadore said and hugged her. 

_ That was exactly what she needed to hear. _

"Okay," said Haesel. "Okay." 

She closed her eyes to shut out all her worries. When she returned her attention to her surroundings, her mother was putting the finishing touches on her hair. 

The smile on Isadore’s face was bittersweet as she traced her fingers down Haesel’s face. 

Isadore’s voice was husky and gentle as she said, “It seems like just yesterday that I held you in my arms for the first time. And now you’re all grown up.” 

“Mum . . .”

“There,” Isadore said, leaning her cheek against Haesel’s and smiling, “it’s perfect. You’re so beautiful, darling.”

“Thank you, Mum. I think you can take half the credit for that,” Haesel teasingly replied.

Her mother’s laugh was Haesel’s favorite sound in the world. It meant home. It meant she was loved and safe. 

“All right, darling, up you get. You’ll need help with the gown.”

When everything was in its proper place, Haesel stared at her reflection. She had no words and, for once, neither did her mirror. 

Isadore kissed her on the cheek and said, “Come down when you’re ready, darling. We’ll be waiting.”

The gown was ridiculously expensive, but very flattering. It fit like a glove from her chest to the bottom of her bum, and then the skirt flared out in a dramatic fashion. Her shoulders were bare, but sleeves started at her upper arms and swept down in the shape of petals to cover her hands—the ends dragging on the floor and slit all the way up. It shimmered like the priciest of pearls. 

“I’m getting bonded today,” said Haesel. 

Both the hearts in her chest skipped a beat, then raced. It felt surreal, in the best of ways.

A while later, Haesel opened her door and then stopped. "Uncle Valerius?" 

"I missed out on your first waltz; I wasn’t going to miss out on this. I offered to escort you," Valerius said, proffering his arm. His blond hair hung down to his shoulders in soft waves.

"Thank you." 

Haesel placed hers atop it, before tangling their fingers and swinging their arms with each step. Before they rounded the last corner, Valerius stopped walking. 

Haesel tilted her head back and asked, "What's wrong?"

"You might have chosen him as your lord, Haesel, but I think you haven’t fully processed something yet." 

Solemn, again—he was so serious.

"And what's that?" 

Valerius leaned down and breathed the answer in her ear, "That you're  _ his lady." _

Haesel staggered for a moment and leaned her head against his chest. Uncle Valerius was right. She hadn't been giving that any consideration. If she felt the need to please Charles and make him happy, surely he felt the same in return. Her mother was right. Haesel wasn’t losing her family; she was gaining more family.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome, Haesel. Now, let's hurry up. Or else everyone will think you've snubbed Lord Prewett," Valerius teased.

Haesel turned the corner with more confidence in her step. Charles waited for her, his eyes speaking nothing but appreciation. Judging by the awe on Charles's face, her mother and grandmother had chosen the gown wisely.

"I'll leave you here," Valerius said before kissing her cheek and handing her over to her father.

“Well, look at you. Aren’t you beautiful, my little princess?” James asked, tears in his eyes.

Haesel smirked up at him and winked. “You can take credit for the half that wasn’t Mum’s contribution.”

Her father grasped her hands and kissed the insides of her wrists before saying, "Darling, Haesel, it has been my honor to watch you grow into such a wonderful woman. Your mother and I are very pleased with you. We have treasured you these long years, and it’s with joy and well wishes for your future that we grant your hand in bonding to Lord Charles Ignatius Prewett." 

Haesel trembled as his words rippled through the family magic. 

"Do you consent to this bonding?"

The room quieted, and she could just hear her grandfather beginning to cry.

“With all my heart,” she said.

James walked her over to Charles and placed her hand in his. Then with a final kiss to her cheek, stepped back.

Charles hugged her close and said, “I promise you’ll see her soon,” before Disapparating them. 

She felt them pass through what felt like goblin wards—didn’t his oldest brother work for Gringotts?—and then melted against him as the Prewett family magic embraced her. 

“Welcome home to Prewett Manor,” Charles said. 

Haesel grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down, so she could kiss him. When her lips touched his, she felt her heart flutter out of her chest; his heart remained. 

Charles gasped into her mouth.

She was light-headed from lack of air when he pulled away to say, “You  _ love me.” _

“How could I not?”

Charles’s eyes darkened and he reluctantly released her. “I’ll give you the tour—”

_ “Charles,” _ she interrupted, voice firm, “I don’t want the tour. I want you.”

“—later. Possibly tomorrow,” he hastily substituted, before kissing her again. “You can meet the house-elves then, too. But for now, I’ll show you the Lord’s and Lady’s Chambers. It’s going to be my favorite part of the manor.” 

Charles swept her into his arms. 

Haesel blushed at the implication and her own forwardness, but couldn’t deny that she was curious and looking forward to what was coming. 

“All right, let’s start my tour with the Lady’s chambers,” she said.

Charlus halted, a worried frown on his face, and said, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“How so?” Haesel asked, brow furrowed.

“I mean for us to share a suite of rooms, but one bedchamber, Haesel. I would never have you sleep anywhere but at my side. Does this displease you?” he asked, rubbing his thumb against her knee. 

“Oh,” Haesel whispered. 

She knew of several pureblood witches who had their own bedroom, separate from their husbands. She also knew her grandparents cohabitated, as did her parents. Haesel had always sought that for herself: a man who would want her with him always. Being relegated to another bedchamber, only to be visited when he sought his marital rights, would be insulting in the extreme. 

“No, I rather prefer it, Charles.”

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered.

Charles carried her over the threshold of an open door, and then set her on her feet, before closing the door behind them.

It felt like stepping into a vision of the future.

The room was elegant and had dark antique furniture. Settees were placed near the massive fireplace. She walked toward it and ran her hand along the mantle, before turning her eyes to the floor. 

Haesel could easily imagine winter nights spent cuddled before a roaring fire, Charles’s arms holding her close to his side. She would tilt her head back and offer her lips, and he would claim them until she could no longer think.

Her fingers trailed along the back of the nearest settee. Haesel would lie here in her nightgown, waiting for Charles to return from assisting Newt Scamander with a raid against Magical Creature Poachers, because she would be unable to sleep without him beside her—his breath on her neck, his arm about her waist, and his magic blanketing her.

She stood before an ornate mirror, non-magical and somehow all the more intriguing because of it. Haesel would stand right here before they left for balls, having to fix her hair because he inevitably messed it up when he couldn’t help but kiss her, for her gown was just a little too low-cut. Charles’s magic would lash out with jealousy and his eyes might turn that eerie blue. He would demand she change but Haesel would ignore him, because she loved seeing his passion for her.

Haesel opened the nearest door and walked into a dressing room of immense proportions. There were empty racks and drawers, each waiting for her clothing, shoes, and accessories. The barrenness of it called to her, as if Charles constantly stood in this dressing room and bemoaned her absence, eagerly awaiting the day she would fill it.

One of the drawers in the jewelry armoire was open. Haesel was unable to look away. Charles wasn’t careless; he had left it open on purpose to garner her attention. She picked up the velvet box, lifted the lid, and gasped in awe.

“Do you like it?”

Haesel spun around to see Charles was leaning against the doorframe. His hair was unruly, as if he had just run his fingers through it several times. Charles’s shoulders relaxed as he strode toward her. His eyes sparkled with delight and hunger. 

“Do you like it?” he repeated as he touched the velvet box, his fingers brushing along hers.

Haesel tore her gaze away from his enticing smile and looked at the rings once more. One was a plain band of what she believed to be mithril, and the other held a blue diamond the size of a Galleon. 

“It’s stunning,” she breathed.

Smirking, Charles picked up the jeweled ring and said, “I personally imbued the mithril with protection charms and rituals over the years, including blood magic. It’ll stop almost everything but the Killing Curse.” 

_ My world would end if anything happened to you, _ his magic whispered to her. 

Haesel had never heard him so clearly before.

_ As would mine, _ she replied.

“I will not chance losing you, my lady. Promise me that you’ll always wear it.” 

Haesel turned her head and kissed Charles’s palm as his magic urged her to give her word. Even if his magic had been silent, she still would have complied. The desperation in his eyes was unnerving, bordering on insanity, and she didn’t want to know what phantoms of the mind taunted him. She would do everything in her power—which wasn’t insignificant—to ensure that nothing stole her away from him.

“I swear to you, Lord Prewett, that I will never remove the ring once it’s mine,” said Haesel. 

Charles’s eyes conveyed his gratitude as he removed the ring from the box. He slid the ring on her finger and it re-sized to fit. Haesel was grateful he had thought so far ahead while waiting for her to come of age; the thought of life without him made her magic roil with horror. 

She felt the magic build as she picked up the plain band and slid it on the fourth finger of his left hand. Now there was only one step left, and they would be bonded in the Ancient Ways under the Olde Magick.

When Charles kissed her neck, Haesel dropped the box. The kiss was almost not-there against the swell of her breasts. Her hands trembled as her stomach fluttered wildly. 

“C-Charles.”

Charles groaned against her skin, then pulled away. He rose to his full height. His eyes burned down at her like molten lava and Haesel wanted to let it consume her. 

“I love it when you say my name,” Charles said, fingers gripping hers possessively. “It’s so—intimate.” 

She shuddered at the husky sound of his voice. 

“Come, Haesel,” he purred.

When Charles started walking toward another door, Haesel’s breathing sped up. Her stomach knotted with emotions, nervousness and curiosity chief among them. Before she could sort out her feelings, they entered their bedchamber.

The room could have been covered in cobwebs and dust, or cleaner than a room once Lotsy finished it. It could have had marble flooring, or stone, or hardwood. The walls could have been blank or lined with priceless works of art. 

Haesel had no idea what the rest of the room was like, because her gaze had locked onto the enormous bed the moment she passed over the threshold. Its four posts were magnificently carved, and the bedstead itself was definitely from the Medieval era. She wondered if it had been in the Prewett’s Ancestral Vault. Morgana knew the Potters possessed vaults full of nothing but furniture that wasn’t being used. 

Charles led her to the bed and then halted. Haesel felt his gaze on her as she touched the nearest post. It radiated warmth beneath her fingers, just as her wand did. 

“Holly.”

“Yes.”

“For protection from illnesses, fire, and evil witchcraft,” Haesel said, memories surfacing. 

She had researched holly thoroughly after she got her wand, desiring to know all of its properties. 

“Yes.”

“Dark twin of the oak and king of the forests for six months of the year. Always strong, always in bloom, refusing to succumb to the harsh frigidity of winter. Always living and thriving—unconquerable,” she whispered. 

“As our bonding will be,” purred Charles.

“Yes,” she agreed. 

Haesel swallowed as she remembered the last important quality. Taking into account all she knew of it, it was no wonder Charles had insisted their bed be created from the wood of a holly tree. 

“Holly,” Haesel breathed, “for life and . . . fertility.”

Charles, eyes blazing, grasped her waist. He spun her around until her back was to the post, and then he carefully pushed her against it. 

“Holly—for your magic.” 

And then his mouth was on hers. Charles devoured her, sending her thoughts into a tailspin. All thought of nerves—or lack thereof—vanished as he kissed her. Haesel reached up and thrust her hands into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark-auburn strands.

When he pressed fully against her, caging her safely in his arms, their magic went wild. It flared around them, traveling out from their bodies. Their magic melded and slithered into the floor, ceiling, and walls. Haesel felt the manor’s wards renew and strengthen under the force of their combined magic. 

Haesel’s tongue battled with Charles’s as he moaned into her mouth, sending her senses into a frenzy. She had never felt like this before. She desperately tried to inhale enough oxygen to satisfy her lungs. The loose corset felt unbearably restraining. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” Charles groaned.

“For what?” asked Haesel. Surely there was nothing to forgive.

His hands dropped then, and she almost choked when she saw the expression in his eyes. It was wanton. Charles’s magic felt primal.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he gritted out. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Haesel’s heart ached with each word he spoke. He might fear for her safety in his presence, but she never would—not even if he went completely feral. She caressed her new ring and then closed the distance between them, hating each step he took away from her. Charles’s back met a wall and Haesel paused before him, concern and trust overwhelming her. She kissed his chest, which cradled her heart, as his whole body sought to both greet her and lurch away.

After glancing up at him through her eyelashes, Haesel stated, “Charles, you are the only man I would ever trust to honor me in the Ancient Ways under the Olde Magick.” 

His chest stilled beneath her hands as he stopped breathing. 

“If I know nothing else in this world, I know that Mother Magic will not allow your control to slip so far that you harm me.”

Haesel stood on tiptoe, kissed Charles’s lips, and was swept off to bed in a storm of feral magic.

Passion consumed them.

* * *

Haesel startled awake when the moon was dark to a ghostly whisper in her ear, from a voice she had not heard in many years.

Mother Magic breathed,  _ “Merlin in our time hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn though men may wound him that he will not die, but pass, again to come. . . .” _

A chill wracked Haesel’s body as Mother Magic spun blue starlight in her hand and placed it in Haesel’s womb. It burned like frostbite. 

_ “I know whom thou seekest, for thou seekest Merlin; therefore seek no farther, for he is with thee.” _

“Your Will be done,” Haesel whispered.

The Court of the Once and Future King had begun.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] I Carry Your Heart With Me (I Carry It In My Heart)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801844) by [Kaister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaister/pseuds/Kaister)


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